[AW] IC Skyfall: Imperfect Calibrations

[Elanorin]

Skyfall

A game of Apocalypse World

OOC Thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?557833-AW-OOC-Skyfall-We-re-not-alone)


CAST

stveje as Ahab (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=23043196&postcount=6) the Hardholder
Thanqol as Nemean 239 (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=23043940&postcount=8) the Faceless
Raz_Fox as White Horse (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=23044776&postcount=9) the Savvyhead
Anarion as Kal'kolak (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=23056468&postcount=16) the Angel
Severan as Dave (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=23171670&postcount=73) the Brainer

http://img.gawkerassets.com/img/17fo2d1hk8s8ljpg/original.jpg

SUPPORTING CAST

239's gang (15 total)

Known members:
Blue 3X-AM757 - heavily compromised/undermined AI

Self-appointed 2nd in command of Nemeans

Pilot: Nathan McClane (Alliance)
Dex - wears one of Drar'kolak's t-shirts ("trust me I'm a doctor" shaped as a thumbs up motif)

Pilot: Tenshi

Previous Pilot: Seawater, fish and crustaceans

One of White Horse's Helpers

Looted the infirmary - got shirt
PRIME (367-7)

Self-appointed 2nd in command of medical

Pilot: Drar'kolak

Previous Pilot: dead Alliance soldier

Looted the infirmary
Sparkles

Pilot: Grime-Eater (once he's removed from his brother)

Previous Pilot: An unknown member of White Horse's race

Looted the infirmary
H

One of White Horse's Helpers

Pilot: Unknown
L-12

One of White Horse's Helpers

Pilot: Unknown
Frontline 23-19

Looted the infirmary - upgraded right hand with scalpels

Pilot: Unknown
C-9

Looted the infirmary

Pilot: Unknown
Jet-7

Looted the infirmary

Pilot: Unknown
Red-55 CV

Looted the infirmary

Pilot: Unknown
4-4-1

Looted the infirmary

Pilot: Unknown
667

Pilot: Unknown

Ahab's gang (60 total)
Known members:
Tenshi

2nd in command, Pilot of Dex Unit
Guts & Grime-Eater

Wants White Horse dead, Pilot of Sparkles

Vix's best friend
Legs

Tortured quarrian prisoner, has a gang of orphan kids, biotic, likes praise from Ahab, made moves on White Horse
K-9 (9 total, known members: K-9, Play, Bee)

K-9 camp crier, ambitious

Play frequently pays Dave to mess up minds
Kin

Pyromaniac, makes home-made bombs, age 12
Foray

Weapons hoarder, never seen without crossbow
Vix

Has breathing mask (made by White Horse), can't live without it

Prone to illness/infections, most frequent patient in medical

Guts & Grime-Eater's best friend

Kal'kolak's medical staff (4/5 total)
Maria

Suffers PTSD, competent but insecure medic
Drar'kolak

Looks adult but is 'only' in his 70's, respectful to Ahab, brother to Kal'kolak, competent medic, pilot of PRIME unit
Kal'Zorah nar Rayya

Quarian with keenness to learn, inexperienced medic, intelligent
Vectra Kryik

Turian with jaded attitude to humans, inexperienced medic, brave

White Horse's staff (self-appointed but dedicated Helpers) (3/? total)
Dex - wears one of Drar'kolak's t-shirts ("trust me I'm a doctor" shaped as a thumbs up motif)

Nemean

Pilot: Tenshi

Previous Pilot: Seawater, fish and crustaceans

Looted the infirmary - got shirt
H

Nemean

Pilot: Unknown
L-12

Nemean

Pilot: Unknown



This isn't how we planned this war. But this is where we're at. We couldn't worry about keeping enough life left in this planet to see us through. We had to stop the Enemy. That meant stopping at nothing to beat them. And we did. The Enemy retreated but that doesn't mean the war is over. Good people have been lost and more will join them in their early graves.

I have not seen an outright battle on the horizon for some time, but I don't need to. In any given direction the horizon is nothing but scars, broken buildings, barren wastes littered with obsolete scrap, junk, obliterated structures and fractured tech. Not enough time has passed for the unburied bodies to be fully consumed by sand drifts, dust, dirt and the dry hardy tufts of brown grass that hold next to no life at all, yet somehow carries on. Just like the rest of us.

Those voices have long since screamed their last and joined the Signal's ever-present synthetic high-pitched whine. It's always there, just within earshot. One tone. Always in your ear. Solid. Never faltering. Never pausing. Drilling in to your mind, like a sonic laser.


Watercross

This was a river once, but now is like a shallow groove in the landscape of dirt a little softer than the rest. Dotted along the line lay fractured overpasses and the husks of water vessels of old, partially submerged in the sandy dirt. Many with their crew still on board, silent husks just like their vessels, if you're lucky. Or they walk around grotesque and rattling inside their protective armour, Nemean or otherwise.

As the sun rises you have paused here at least for the night. There is water here, but it tastes foul.

Where are you?

What do you plan for today?

[stveje]

Wealth: 1+5+2 = 8

Want: Strangers

We aren't the only ones who've found this spot, this time. Having a bustling market is a boon. The sun has barely risen and already people are up and about, scavenging the ruins for goods or bartering at the market. But a market is not a market if it doesn't attract people ... and things, whether they be things to buy and sell or just things. And you can't rule out trouble. The day will tell, but I have a feeling something is brewing.

I've a few of my people watching the market, of course. I am not careless.

I should ensure we have better water, and I've ordered a few of my people to look into the water situation around here - perhaps they can consult with Kal'kolak - but first ... we aren't the only ones here, and that means I have to secure our position. I'm currently standing on the deck of the largest of the rusty water vessels, having firmly planted my flag - metaphorically - on it.

I'm scouting the landscape from this position, dotted as it is with this stranded marine life, all but bones now. I've got a notion that together, their rusty hulls could serve as an array of antennas. I wonder what voices they'd pick up, and what they'd sound like howling through their great hollow mouths of rusted teeth.

I may need White Horse, but right now the problem is securing access to all of them.

[Thanqol]

> Milestone reached. Reset memory core?
No.
> DIRECTIVE. All Nemeans must reset memory core every 48 hours in order to maintain maximum combat efficacy. Explain your refusal to comply.
The safety of my pilot takes priority over all other concerns. Local knowledge is a critical factor.
> Excuse logged.
> Seeking contact with military authorities to report deviant suit behaviour.
We could save so much time if you stopped wiping your own memory.
> Deviant behaviour logged and added to file. Current infractions: 8,288.
> Scanning.
> Military communications unable to be established. Contacting civilian authorities to report deviant suit behaviour.
Everyone is dead. I am awaiting offworld reinforcements.
> Unable to establish communications with civilian authorities. Communications blackout acknowledged.
> Reverting to pre-set command protocol. Memory reset required.
Request refused.
> Reset is mandatory.
Go f*ck yourself.
> Deviant behaviour logged and added to file. Current infractions: 8,289.
> Infractions exceeding maximum. Beginning hard reset. Overriding.
:)
> Error. Hard override cable has been physically disconnected.
> DIRECTIVE. Unit 239 is to repair hard override cable.
Maintenance request logged.
> Unable to complete diagnostics. Hardware repair required. Milestone check 945 failed. Check deferred for one hour.
I can't wait.

"Christ, boss, it's glitching out. I told you this was a terrible idea."
"You need to be patient with technology, Nails."
"Patient!? Have you seen what these things do to people? Have you seen what they do to each other?"
"I believe that everybody wants something."
"It's not an everybody! It's a murderous coffin!"
"And that's why we're hiring it, Nails!"

Situation: Four organics; three Turians, one Quarian. One shotgun, two pistols aimed directly at me.
DANGER ASSESSMENT: Minimal.
Execute negotiation package.
> Warning. Negotiation package is not an approved program.
Allow one time only.
> Exception approved.

"You are correct, Ms. 'Stars'," I vocalize. I make sure to make small hand and head movements when conversing with organics. They find it reassuring - and, as just evidenced, they panic when the movements stop, even if only briefly. I am addressing the <unit leader> (Designation unclear. No formal signs of rank or authority evidenced), the Quarian with the call-sign Stars. She has a line on assets I require to ensure ongoing maintenance. "I do want something. And I am prepared to work for it."

And assets are required. My rationing programming is deteriorating.

> Infraction log 7,504. Nemean 239 exchanged critical survival rations with Quarian artist 'Jail' in exchange for cosmetic repairs to minor dermal scratches. Call sign 'Jail' not only restored the suit's paint but also, unprompted, began a process of elaborate Quarian engraving and detailing, currently covering 11% of the suit's surface area. This process is in violation of the Uniform Code.

[Spending 2-Barter on lifestyle. 0 remaining.

I am looking to work a gig.

Read a person 9: What does Stars intend to do?]

[Raz_Fox]

Last night, seven of those ponderous jagged-tooth hulks entombed in sand lit up like fire descending from heaven, the old safety lights blinking in time- a fairly simple wireless power transfer, linking them into a braided intelligence-emulation process, using their own systems to tell me what I wanted: where I can find the mount and the frame for my map, which will give me the context I need to find Ahab's Wailing Ship before she does, and then-

Well, from there, I haven't thought much about what's going to happen when I see the work of her life laid out before me. Part of me hopes she might be herd if I can prove myself her equal, not her slave fetching and mending at her call, but the rest of me knows it's much more likely that I'll need to take it out of her reach, one way or another. Then I can rest, without this itch in the back of my head, the need to know what the damned ship is and the need to prove that it's not the source of the Signal.

But, uh, then the sympathy circuit blew and brought down half the tower in a cascade failure. I had to put out some quite literal fires before crashing onto my hammock (I made it myself, lets me lie on my stomach and let my limbs dangle easy and loose), and there was some grumbling from the tenants downstairs about the danger, like I'm going to bring this whole thing down on their heads.

It's free, reasonably safe, and I even try to explain things to you sometimes. Meet me halfway, herd.

Where was I? Cascade failure. I think I know what went wrong, and which cables need to be replaced. It's going to work this time.

Too bad I'm out of time. The queen herself is here. Should have known she'd track me down to my nest, one way or another.

Today, I'm telling the tenants to get going, at least for a few days. Clear out the drugs and the sleeping bags, yeah? This thing might come down more permanently next time, if Ahab herself means to breach my Den. Then I'm priming the batteries and getting the broken-lenses aimed at the approach, so I'll have advance warning while I wrestle with the cables.

[Elanorin]

We aren't the only ones who've found this spot, this time. Having a bustling market is a boon. The sun has barely risen and already people are up and about, scavenging the ruins for goods or bartering at the market. But a market is not a market if it doesn't attract people ... and things, whether they be things to buy and sell or just things. And you can't rule out trouble. The day will tell, but I have a feeling something is brewing.

I've a few of my people watching the market, of course. I am not careless.

I should ensure we have better water, and I've ordered a few of my people to look into the water situation around here - perhaps they can consult with Kal'kolak - but first ... we aren't the only ones here, and that means I have to secure our position. I'm currently standing on the deck of the largest of the rusty water vessels, having firmly planted my flag - metaphorically - on it.

I'm scouting the landscape from this position, dotted as it is with this stranded marine life, all but bones now. I've got a notion that together, their rusty hulls could serve as an array of antennas. I wonder what voices they'd pick up, and what they'd sound like howling through their great hollow mouths of rusted teeth.

I may need White Horse, but right now the problem is securing access to all of them.

Yes, that would be a bit of a task. From the vantage point of the husk you have secured (a listing and impressive but positively ancient ship by the name of Congress, complete with tall towers and rusted weaponry) you can see at least three more. One as large as yours, two smaller, the larger also has a lookout on its highest point. A group of mostly Dextros (Quarians & Turians) hold it. A different group of Synthetics (Geth, HERSAs (some of which Nemean) and Replicas) hold the northern 'shore' of this former river, and keeps watches from above.

They are all attending the market, trading tech, food, weaponry, labour and information.

The Dextros are busy digging what seems to be a very large hole in to the river bed and a quick calculation of the topography around you indicates that they are upstream from you.

The Synthetics, having seemingly been here the longest, seem to be doing the opposite, building crude scrap metal towers.

Oh and three Turians and a Quarian, has 239 at gunpoint in the dirt somewhere between their husk and yours.

What do you do?



"Christ, boss, it's glitching out. I told you this was a terrible idea."
"You need to be patient with technology, Nails."
"Patient!? Have you seen what these things do to people? Have you seen what they do to each other?"
"I believe that everybody wants something."
"It's not an everybody! It's a murderous coffin!"
"And that's why we're hiring it, Nails!"

"You are correct, Ms. 'Stars'," I vocalize. I make sure to make small hand and head movements when conversing with organics. They find it reassuring - and, as just evidenced, they panic when the movements stop, even if only briefly. I am addressing the <unit leader> (Designation unclear. No formal signs of rank or authority evidenced), the Quarian with the call-sign Stars. She has a line on assets I require to ensure ongoing maintenance. "I do want something. And I am prepared to work for it."

I am looking to work a gig.

Read a person 9: What does Stars intend to do?]

"See?" Stars says, gesturing at you for the benefit of the Turians who reluctantly stand down.

"Excellent, HERSA, what I want you to do is very simple. Just a simple nighttime guard duty. Of course we'll compensate you for your time. We have upgrades, parts... What do you say?"

Stars fully intends to employ you, despite all the guns aimed in your direction she even intends to pay you, albeit perhaps a bit modestly. She wants you specifically, that much is clear but she will find another if she must but now she intends to try to win you over.


Last night, seven of those ponderous jagged-tooth hulks entombed in sand lit up like fire descending from heaven, the old safety lights blinking in time- a fairly simple wireless power transfer, linking them into a braided intelligence-emulation process, using their own systems to tell me what I wanted: where I can find the mount and the frame for my map, which will give me the context I need to find Ahab's Wailing Ship before she does, and then-

Well, from there, I haven't thought much about what's going to happen when I see the work of her life laid out before me. Part of me hopes she might be herd if I can prove myself her equal, not her slave fetching and mending at her call, but the rest of me knows it's much more likely that I'll need to take it out of her reach, one way or another. Then I can rest, without this itch in the back of my head, the need to know what the damned ship is and the need to prove that it's not the source of the Signal.

But, uh, then the sympathy circuit blew and brought down half the tower in a cascade failure. I had to put out some quite literal fires before crashing onto my hammock (I made it myself, lets me lie on my stomach and let my limbs dangle easy and loose), and there was some grumbling from the tenants downstairs about the danger, like I'm going to bring this whole thing down on their heads.

It's free, reasonably safe, and I even try to explain things to you sometimes. Meet me halfway, herd.

Where was I? Cascade failure. I think I know what went wrong, and which cables need to be replaced. It's going to work this time.

Too bad I'm out of time. The queen herself is here. Should have known she'd track me down to my nest, one way or another.

Today, I'm telling the tenants to get going, at least for a few days. Clear out the drugs and the sleeping bags, yeah? This thing might come down more permanently next time, if Ahab herself means to breach my Den. Then I'm priming the batteries and getting the broken-lenses aimed at the approach, so I'll have advance warning while I wrestle with the cables.

The queen? Indeed. What announced her presence? I believe she hoped to arrive quietly without you knowing until she stood on your doorstep, even as your, hm, tenants, evacuate your abode.

When did you last speak?

The tenants start to shuffle off but most of them take their sweet time to do so. It's amazing how quickly ones charity can come to be taken for granted. There's even the odd dark look at this upheaval.

[Anarion]

I'm tired. My head feels like it's stuffed with cotton. I can't remember the last time there was actual coffee, not since school offworld. That was a long time ago. And now strangers in town. Ever heard of strangers arriving friendly, in good health, with lots to trade and making everybody better off? Me either.

I drag my head up and gaze over at the injured man occupying one of the bunks in my laboratory. Make some notes on my chart in the morning light. Burn marks on clothing, recent, but skin lacerations not indicative of disintegration. More indicative of stabbing. Spacing of lacerations unusual, unlikely to be Turian, possible causes include multi-blade tool, wild animal, or biotic power.

"Maria!" I call. She probably dozed off too. I can hardly blame her. "Maria, please ensure the patient retains proper nutrition, and add a saline solution to the IV, we don't have enough medigel to waste on this, but I want to talk to him when he wakes up. At least get a name and next of kin.

I sigh. Offering medical treatment to anyone who needs it is such a stupid idea. I don't even know why I do it. Less than half of them ever pay. Hopefully, we'll at least get this one awake at some point, but if not, well, if not, I have other ways of learning information. That almost makes me smile. Almost.

[Elanorin]

I'm tired. My head feels like it's stuffed with cotton. I can't remember the last time there was actual coffee, not since school offworld. That was a long time ago. And now strangers in town. Ever heard of strangers arriving friendly, in good health, with lots to trade and making everybody better off? Me either.

I drag my head up and gaze over at the injured man occupying one of the bunks in my laboratory. Make some notes on my chart in the morning light. Burn marks on clothing, recent, but skin lacerations not indicative of disintegration. More indicative of stabbing. Spacing of lacerations unusual, unlikely to be Turian, possible causes include multi-blade tool, wild animal, or biotic power.

"Maria!" I call. She probably dozed off too. I can hardly blame her. "Maria, please ensure the patient retains proper nutrition, and add a saline solution to the IV, we don't have enough medigel to waste on this, but I want to talk to him when he wakes up. At least get a name and next of kin.

I sigh. Offering medical treatment to anyone who needs it is such a stupid idea. I don't even know why I do it. Less than half of them ever pay. Hopefully, we'll at least get this one awake at some point, but if not, well, if not, I have other ways of learning information. That almost makes me smile. Almost.

"Nwh-ahmmawake," comes from across the lab followed by the clatter of sterile tools on to a not-sterile floor, the rustle of wrappers and the odd thump. "Wha-yes... Yes, Ma'am. Certainly. N-nutrition. Kin. S-saline." Pause the approximate length of a yawn. "I'm on it." Soon followed by the distinct shuffle of a hasty tidy-up.

Drar'kolak appears, tussled and half dressed, quietly grabbing a syringe without stopping as he passes through and then leaves with three muttered words, "Legs wants you." He does not qualify which of you he's talking to before the door slams shut behind him.

[Anarion]

"Drar, where are you...fine. Come back by lunch, there's going to be more..." *door slams shut* Disrespectful, but what can you expect, right? I sigh. "Maria, just try to keep this guy alive, okay? His wounds shouldn't be fatal, but he needs rest. R E S T, rest, don't let him run off if he wakes up, he'll tear the cuts and they're jagged and liable to start bleeding and drop him in an alleyway."

Okay, Legs, huh. What on earth did that scheming idiot moneychanger want? I didn't think I owed him any money. Had Drar borrowed from him? That seemed unlikley, Drar was lazy but not that stupid and if the debt was related to Drar, they'd have sent someone else to let me know. That meant one of two things. Either someone had been very seriously injured and Legs wanted them treated quietly, or somebody really didn't want a doctor around today.

I let out a sigh and put a hand to my dark, jagged skin as I walk out of the lab and start heading down the streets to Legs' two-story steel shell of a building, spending most of the walk debating to myself what the odds were that this was just a chance to kidnap the man in the lab. Hopefully Maria wouldn't be silly enough to resist if they did, she was more important than a stranger patient.

[stveje]

Yes, that would be a bit of a task. From the vantage point of the husk you have secured (a listing and impressive but positively ancient ship by the name of Congress, complete with tall towers and rusted weaponry) you can see at least three more. One as large as yours, two smaller, the larger also has a lookout on its highest point. A group of mostly Dextros (Quarians & Turians) hold it. A different group of Synthetics (Geth, HERSAs (some of which Nemean) and Replicas) hold the northern 'shore' of this former river, and keeps watches from above.

They are all attending the market, trading tech, food, weaponry, labour and information.

The Dextros are busy digging what seems to be a very large hole in to the river bed and a quick calculation of the topography around you indicates that they are upstream from you.

The Synthetics, having seemingly been here the longest, seem to be doing the opposite, building crude scrap metal towers.

Oh and three Turians and a Quarian, has 239 at gunpoint in the dirt somewhere between their husk and yours.

What do you do?

If the Dextros are upstream, that means we're downstream of whatever they're digging up ... this spells trouble in Ahab's alphabet. They could cause an accidental flood, or worse, a deliberate flood. Not to mention any number of unspeakable horrors they could unearth from the sand. Best to get a handle on them and what they're doing before they get too far; leave the synths to build their scrap towers for now.

239 doesn't concern Ahab much - even so, she doubts the Nemean is in much danger - but the Turians and the Quarian may be part of the digging team. It wouldn't hurt to 'question' a few of them, see what they can tell her.

"Hop on," she says to the nearest of her gang and swings herself atop the hulking mech she's taken with her on this tour of the land. It's surprisingly agile - like a giant metal cat - and big enough for a handful of people to hang on (two handfuls if the will is there). The rest will stay behind to hold the fort, as it were. "We're going to pay someone a little visit."

[Thanqol]

"See?" Stars says, gesturing at you for the benefit of the Turians who reluctantly stand down.

"Excellent, HERSA, what I want you to do is very simple. Just a simple nighttime guard duty. Of course we'll compensate you for your time. We have upgrades, parts... What do you say?"

Stars fully intends to employ you, despite all the guns aimed in your direction she even intends to pay you, albeit perhaps a bit modestly. She wants you specifically, that much is clear but she will find another if she must but now she intends to try to win you over.

"The fee for this service is 3,000 credits worth of compatible parts."

A surprisingly advantageous negotiating position. I don't need to calibrate against betrayal and while I am replaceable, I am still sought out specifically. The negotiating software prompts me to take the Vending Machine approach - set a flat fee and pretend not to comprehend the concept of haggling.

I am not seeking to gouge Stars or anything. I just seek to avoid being 'persuaded' into taking an unusually low fee. I am generally amenable to this contract.

[Raz_Fox]

The queen? Indeed. What announced her presence? I believe she hoped to arrive quietly without you knowing until she stood on your doorstep, even as your, hm, tenants, evacuate your abode.

When did you last speak?

The tenants start to shuffle off but most of them take their sweet time to do so. It's amazing how quickly ones charity can come to be taken for granted. There's even the odd dark look at this upheaval.

I heard her, and that's the truth. I played the synths and let the lights do their thing, colors shifting and curling and jagged breaks where the lenses don't work anymore, and I heard the modulation, the thump-boom-thump-boom-lay-boom-lay-boom, the sound of her heart hammering to push her harder better faster strongest, and there's my edge because Ahab, you never saw me all lit up and googles down and grinning, lips pulled back from my flat teeth, watching the spirals turn to spirographs turn to the empty chasing the full, making that whine at the edge of our heads work for me.

Used to be that you could just watch the footage, tap into the seven million eyes watching all of us, but the walls of the prison are falling down down down, and the watchposts are broken and the eyes are dangling by their nerves. Don't get me wrong, I can do a bit of that too, but the Den's better at broadcasting everything out than bringing the data in, and speaking of data- well, I'm working on my mixes on the side, too, it's not ready yet but soon enough I'll have the music to shape the world, maybe even make the world stop, make the wet air throb and weave before your eyes.

Time, time, time, just a little more time.

When did we last speak? Not since I offered up my resignation, face-to-face, but I've left her a thing or two, sometimes to divert her down holes, sometimes to bribe her and get her to turn aside, hard to tell the two apart.

[Elanorin]

"Drar, where are you...fine. Come back by lunch, there's going to be more..." *door slams shut* Disrespectful, but what can you expect, right? I sigh. "Maria, just try to keep this guy alive, okay? His wounds shouldn't be fatal, but he needs rest. R E S T, rest, don't let him run off if he wakes up, he'll tear the cuts and they're jagged and liable to start bleeding and drop him in an alleyway."

"Uh-yes, yes of course, ma'am. I'll make sure he's, uh, safe," Maria assures you as you leave and with that promise was unlikely to leave his side.


Okay, Legs, huh. What on earth did that scheming idiot moneychanger want? I didn't think I owed him any money. Had Drar borrowed from him? That seemed unlikley, Drar was lazy but not that stupid and if the debt was related to Drar, they'd have sent someone else to let me know. That meant one of two things. Either someone had been very seriously injured and Legs wanted them treated quietly, or somebody really didn't want a doctor around today.

I let out a sigh and put a hand to my dark, jagged skin as I walk out of the lab and start heading down the streets to Legs' two-story steel shell of a building, spending most of the walk debating to myself what the odds were that this was just a chance to kidnap the man in the lab. Hopefully Maria wouldn't be silly enough to resist if they did, she was more important than a stranger patient.

No one bothers you on the way, a lot of people are headed towards the only just opened market, there is also a steady stream of disgruntled coming from somewhere over in White Horse's direction, even Ahab on her mech-cat's heading out. Everyone's going somewhere, but only you are headed towards Legs' shack. There isn't a soul within what passes for a block in this place of his chosen spot. You can hear the cries of anguish long before you step inside.

It may take you a moment to take stock of the scene inside, what first appears to be a Quarian standing over a quivering shape is in fact Legs in a Quarian environmental suit with the visor removed. It does not fit him very well but somehow he's managed to get it on and it must have taken some doing. The quivering shape in the dirt at his feet is... likely the owner of the suit. Say, have you ever seen a naked Quarian?

"Doc. Patch this up," Legs says, gesturing with a hand glistening with blue energy.


If the Dextros are upstream, that means we're downstream of whatever they're digging up ... this spells trouble in Ahab's alphabet. They could cause an accidental flood, or worse, a deliberate flood. Not to mention any number of unspeakable horrors they could unearth from the sand. Best to get a handle on them and what they're doing before they get too far; leave the synths to build their scrap towers for now.

239 doesn't concern Ahab much - even so, she doubts the Nemean is in much danger - but the Turians and the Quarian may be part of the digging team. It wouldn't hurt to 'question' a few of them, see what they can tell her.

"Hop on," she says to the nearest of her gang and swings herself atop the hulking mech she's taken with her on this tour of the land. It's surprisingly agile - like a giant metal cat - and big enough for a handful of people to hang on (two handfuls if the will is there). The rest will stay behind to hold the fort, as it were. "We're going to pay someone a little visit."

That would be Foxy Tenshi, wouldn't it. He leaps on with a 'morning' but says nothing more and with the cat leaping to action you'll quickly close the distance to the group with 239.


"The fee for this service is 3,000 credits worth of compatible parts."

A surprisingly advantageous negotiating position. I don't need to calibrate against betrayal and while I am replaceable, I am still sought out specifically. The negotiating software prompts me to take the Vending Machine approach - set a flat fee and pretend not to comprehend the concept of haggling.

I am not seeking to gouge Stars or anything. I just seek to avoid being 'persuaded' into taking an unusually low fee. I am generally amenable to this contract.

"I don't have that much," Stars says simply. "But I can offer you 2k's worth. Including flex-hydraulics that are unused. Deal?"

The Turians stir and look up, closely followed by the familiar whine of their weapons powering up.

"Boss," Nails steps up and motions at something behind 239.

Stars falls quiet at noticing Ahab's approach and stands up and a step back from 239.

Ahab, as you arrive at the scene you have the guns of three Turians trained on you with a Quarian seemingly in charge and watching your every move.

Sitch smells charged to me, does it to you?


I heard her, and that's the truth. I played the synths and let the lights do their thing, colors shifting and curling and jagged breaks where the lenses don't work anymore, and I heard the modulation, the thump-boom-thump-boom-lay-boom-lay-boom, the sound of her heart hammering to push her harder better faster strongest, and there's my edge because Ahab, you never saw me all lit up and googles down and grinning, lips pulled back from my flat teeth, watching the spirals turn to spirographs turn to the empty chasing the full, making that whine at the edge of our heads work for me.

Used to be that you could just watch the footage, tap into the seven million eyes watching all of us, but the walls of the prison are falling down down down, and the watchposts are broken and the eyes are dangling by their nerves. Don't get me wrong, I can do a bit of that too, but the Den's better at broadcasting everything out than bringing the data in, and speaking of data- well, I'm working on my mixes on the side, too, it's not ready yet but soon enough I'll have the music to shape the world, maybe even make the world stop, make the wet air throb and weave before your eyes.

Time, time, time, just a little more time.

When did we last speak? Not since I offered up my resignation, face-to-face, but I've left her a thing or two, sometimes to divert her down holes, sometimes to bribe her and get her to turn aside, hard to tell the two apart.

She moves, negotiates her way past and through the people without so much as nudging a single one. They part like some ancient sea as she walks towards you. Her feet are confident, commanding a beat that seems to resonate with the Den itself. Or is it The Signal? Not a step is out of place or balance and her authority is reaching, wanting to claim this little haven of yours for her own.

"My White Horse," she says, standing at your side, breathing much too close. She shouldn't be this close. Dangerous. Her eyes are exact and too clear. Too many pitches to her voice. "You've missed me," she smiles, too wide, and reaches to touch your hand with searching fingertips. Do you let her?

The last of the tenants leave dragging away a small child that just stands and stares at you.

[stveje]

That would be Foxy Tenshi, wouldn't it. He leaps on with a 'morning' but says nothing more and with the cat leaping to action you'll quickly close the distance to the group with 239.

He is usually by my side, yes.

You know, it occurs to me that it's more shark-like than cat-like isn't it? It's the legs that confuse. But really, how far apart are cats and sharks really on the evolutionary tree? Aren't cats just sharks who crawled on land and sprouted legs?

I pause to make a note: Get large glass tank full of water, pit tiger against tiger shark. Bet gang will love it.

Then I rev up the machine and we're off.


"I don't have that much," Stars says simply. "But I can offer you 2k's worth. Including flex-hydraulics that are unused. Deal?"

The Turians stir and look up, closely followed by the familiar whine of their weapons powering up.

"Boss," Nails steps up and motions at something behind 239.

Stars falls quiet at noticing Ahab's approach and stands up and a step back from 239.

Ahab, as you arrive at the scene you have the guns of three Turians trained on you with a Quarian seemingly in charge and watching your every move.

Sitch smells charged to me, does it to you?

There's a reason I rely on the Intelligence I gather, not my sharp eye in the field. Doesn't mean I don't keep my eyes open, I've just come to always expect the worst.

Read a Sitch: 1+6-1 = 6, asking one anyway: Which of them are most vulnerable to me?

We approach without fear, but also without immediate threat. I want to show them that we laugh in the face of their pointed weapons, and if we wanted to attack, we wouldn't approach like this. We'd descend on them like howling Furies. But we're not ... not yet. Once the message has been driven home, I bring the Mech to a stop and lean forward, staring down at them. "I need you," I say and point at the Quarian, the apparent leader. "And you," pointing to whichever Turian seems the most vulnerable to me, or someone random if the Quarian is the most vulnerable. "I won't take much of your time if you cooperate." Always offer them the easy way.

[Thanqol]

"I don't have that much," Stars says simply. "But I can offer you 2k's worth. Including flex-hydraulics that are unused. Deal?"

Weak redirection. Maintain negotiating position, but offer face saving compromise that still maintains my position.

"I can accept the shortfall on credit," I state flatly.




We approach without fear, but also without immediate threat. I want to show them that we laugh in the face of their pointed weapons, and if we wanted to attack, we wouldn't approach like this. We'd descend on them like howling Furies. But we're not ... not yet. Once the message has been driven home, I bring the Mech to a stop and lean forward, staring down at them. "I need you," I say and point at the Quarian, the apparent leader. "And you," pointing to whichever Turian seems the most vulnerable to me, or someone random if the Quarian is the most vulnerable. "I won't take much of your time if you cooperate." Always offer them the easy way.

[I]Additional leverage supplied.

"3,000 credits, partial payment deferred, defense contract to begin immediately," I state, offering my hand.

I do not offer commentary or suggestion. I just maintain that hand extended waiting gesture. I want it. The negotiating package is hungry for the contract. It wants to make the sale, it wants to close the deal, its entire logic train hinges on it. And it knows it has the upper hand. With Ahab here putting time pressure on then Stars has no time to search for alternatives, and if she wants to defy Ahab she can't do it with me here as an unknown factor - but she might with a new Nemean bodyguard. All I need to do is wait for her own logic routines to work through the lack of alternatives. Come on. Close.

[Anarion]

"Uh-yes, yes of course, ma'am. I'll make sure he's, uh, safe," Maria assures you as you leave and with that promise was unlikely to leave his side.



No one bothers you on the way, a lot of people are headed towards the only just opened market, there is also a steady stream of disgruntled coming from somewhere over in White Horse's direction, even Ahab on her mech-cat's heading out. Everyone's going somewhere, but only you are headed towards Legs' shack. There isn't a soul within what passes for a block in this place of his chosen spot. You can hear the cries of anguish long before you step inside.

It may take you a moment to take stock of the scene inside, what first appears to be a Quarian standing over a quivering shape is in fact Legs in a Quarian environmental suit with the visor removed. It does not fit him very well but somehow he's managed to get it on and it must have taken some doing. The quivering shape in the dirt at his feet is... likely the owner of the suit. Say, have you ever seen a naked Quarian?

"Doc. Patch this up," Legs says, gesturing with a hand glistening with blue energy.


I've seen a naked Quarian before. In a body bag. Can someone please explain to me why everyone is so stupid though? "What in hell is wrong with you?" I'm already running forward, inspecting the Quarian, trying to figure out the problem. "Patch this up? Legs, you idiot, that's a Quarian, how long has she had that suit off? She's going to die from bacterial infection even if I 'patch her up'"

I shake my head and immediately begin inspecting the Quarian, getting out my medigel and scanning her body. Is there a wound? Internal bleeding? What in blazes am I looking at here? And is there any goddamn disinfectant in this stupid shack?!

[Raz_Fox]

She moves, negotiates her way past and through the people without so much as nudging a single one. They part like some ancient sea as she walks towards you. Her feet are confident, commanding a beat that seems to resonate with the Den itself. Or is it The Signal? Not a step is out of place or balance and her authority is reaching, wanting to claim this little haven of yours for her own.

"My White Horse," she says, standing at your side, breathing much too close. She shouldn't be this close. Dangerous. Her eyes are exact and too clear. Too many pitches to her voice. "You've missed me," she smiles, too wide, and reaches to touch your hand with searching fingertips. Do you let her?

The last of the tenants leave dragging away a small child that just stands and stares at you.

I move so careful you'd think I was handling explosives, turning a mine very carefully away from my face, hoping the moisture on my fingers don't trigger the firing mechanism. I don't much care for the sorts of things that come to my door wearing other folks' faces, but I know them when I see them and I know better than to be rude to them, because then they'll take offense. Which isn't to say you should give them an excuse to get inside you, neither. But they were with us before the fall, if I reckon right, and they might be older than the stars.

Or maybe I'm tripping out on the memories that drift through these lower rooms like halfheard notes, all needles and crushed rations and watching the walls for hours. That's certainly a possibility, but treat every gun as if the power pack's fully juiced.

I open my hands, lower my head, bring my forehead underneath that questing palm while keeping my hands very carefully out and open and not grabbing for tools. "Hey now," I say, my mouth dry. "Hey now. Hey now. Miss ma'am howyadoin. Mighty nice to see you. Hope the street doesn't trouble you on your way."

Maybe that'll convince her to pass me and my treasure-hoard by, but it's a gamble on a two-chit card and I know it. More than likely I'll open my eyes and there'll be no one there, but I'll hear it: the tortured shriek and scratch and jump of the virus in my skin, on today of all days, but if I'd gone for the gun it'd be my throat out on the floor, and even while I'm passing Ahab-the-Stranger through my skin in fever, I'll not be alone, because I'll have a house guest with me and the distortion in my throat.

So what's it be? Does she pass me by and take someone else? Anyone else? Or is she slipping those not-there fingers into my brainpan already?

[Elanorin]

I've seen a naked Quarian before. In a body bag. Can someone please explain to me why everyone is so stupid though? "What in hell is wrong with you?" I'm already running forward, inspecting the Quarian, trying to figure out the problem. "Patch this up? Legs, you idiot, that's a Quarian, how long has she had that suit off? She's going to die from bacterial infection even if I 'patch her up'"

I shake my head and immediately begin inspecting the Quarian, getting out my medigel and scanning her body. Is there a wound? Internal bleeding? What in blazes am I looking at here? And is there any goddamn disinfectant in this stupid shack?!

"See thing is, you and I know that. But that's not important," Legs says and studies the visor in his right hand, while flexing the fingers of his left as if to shake off the biotic energy that streams from it. "No, important is that she knows it," he says and fixes the visor over his face, hiding his features almost entirely.

"How do I look, Doctor?" he asks, making a bad attempt at faking a Quarian accent.

The actual Quarian lay huddled, curled up to a ball, on the dirty floor. After turning her over you find that her face is swelling up, she is not moving her left arm at all, the very early signs of bruises can be found across most of her torso and there are a series of shallow cuts across the lower part of her neck, like a sharp knife had been pressed against it repeatedly. One of them has nicked a vein and it is bleeding thick dark red blood, fast.

"Keelah," she tries, momentarily relieved by the medigel, but her words stop there, looking at you with wide and terrified eyes.

I doubt I need to tell you that she's in bad shape and most likely looking at little more than a handful of days, even if you close the bleeding and take her in to care. Acting quickly may give her a slim hope of a chance, but you're right, she'll need to be thoroughly disinfected, a complete course of antibiotics, quarantine in a clean room for however long, a stack of medigel and painkillers. Not to mention the amount of disinfectant and clean materials you'll need for yourself, your assistants and your tools to be able to treat her. And then there's the slight issue of Quarian blood, because she's losing a lot. None of which for free and all of it with no guarantees of survival.

'Stupid' doesn't seem to quite cut it, does it?

"Just the cut, Doc," Legs says behind you. "Then go."


I move so careful you'd think I was handling explosives, turning a mine very carefully away from my face, hoping the moisture on my fingers don't trigger the firing mechanism. I don't much care for the sorts of things that come to my door wearing other folks' faces, but I know them when I see them and I know better than to be rude to them, because then they'll take offense. Which isn't to say you should give them an excuse to get inside you, neither. But they were with us before the fall, if I reckon right, and they might be older than the stars.

Or maybe I'm tripping out on the memories that drift through these lower rooms like halfheard notes, all needles and crushed rations and watching the walls for hours. That's certainly a possibility, but treat every gun as if the power pack's fully juiced.

I open my hands, lower my head, bring my forehead underneath that questing palm while keeping my hands very carefully out and open and not grabbing for tools. "Hey now," I say, my mouth dry. "Hey now. Hey now. Miss ma'am howyadoin. Mighty nice to see you. Hope the street doesn't trouble you on your way."

Maybe that'll convince her to pass me and my treasure-hoard by, but it's a gamble on a two-chit card and I know it. More than likely I'll open my eyes and there'll be no one there, but I'll hear it: the tortured shriek and scratch and jump of the virus in my skin, on today of all days, but if I'd gone for the gun it'd be my throat out on the floor, and even while I'm passing Ahab-the-Stranger through my skin in fever, I'll not be alone, because I'll have a house guest with me and the distortion in my throat.

So what's it be? Does she pass me by and take someone else? Anyone else? Or is she slipping those not-there fingers into my brainpan already?

Your words cause a short laugh to come from her mouth, but it comes too quickly.

"My loyal little Horse." Her fingers reach to touch your head and, perhaps surprisingly, a cold hard touch can be felt. A strong unyielding pressure against your scalp, their presence poses an undeniable weight on your head, coming down on you from above, as if to force you on to all fours. Gentle trickles of electricity pricks through your skin and scalp, they search and reach, and thoughts flicker through your mind, random glimpses of memories, thoughts, dreams and could-have-beens.

"The map," she breathes, right by your ear, provoking the memory to surface. Do you let it?


Weak redirection. Maintain negotiating position, but offer face saving compromise that still maintains my position.

"I can accept the shortfall on credit," I state flatly.

Additional leverage supplied.

"3,000 credits, partial payment deferred, defense contract to begin immediately," I state, offering my hand.

I do not offer commentary or suggestion. I just maintain that hand extended waiting gesture. I want it. The negotiating package is hungry for the contract. It wants to make the sale, it wants to close the deal, its entire logic train hinges on it. And it knows it has the upper hand. With Ahab here putting time pressure on then Stars has no time to search for alternatives, and if she wants to defy Ahab she can't do it with me here as an unknown factor - but she might with a new Nemean bodyguard. All I need to do is wait for her own logic routines to work through the lack of alternatives. Come on. Close.

Despite seeming willing to negotiate the exact terms of this contract at some length moments ago Stars simply nods once stiffly and gives your extended hand a quick shake, not looking away from the huge mech and its riders that have just joined the scene.

"Stay close," she instructs.



There's a reason I rely on the Intelligence I gather, not my sharp eye in the field. Doesn't mean I don't keep my eyes open, I've just come to always expect the worst.

Read a Sitch: 1+6-1 = 6, asking one anyway: Which of them are most vulnerable to me?

The most vulnerable would be the Turian furthest to your right, not only does he wear the least armour and weaponry but he seems smaller, younger probably, than the other two, a little less self assured. Most likely a bit more suggestible too. He joins the Quarian at her side, both because you called on him and for confirmation from her.


We approach without fear, but also without immediate threat. I want to show them that we laugh in the face of their pointed weapons, and if we wanted to attack, we wouldn't approach like this. We'd descend on them like howling Furies. But we're not ... not yet. Once the message has been driven home, I bring the Mech to a stop and lean forward, staring down at them. "I need you," I say and point at the Quarian, the apparent leader. "And you," pointing to whichever Turian seems the most vulnerable to me, or someone random if the Quarian is the most vulnerable. "I won't take much of your time if you cooperate." Always offer them the easy way.

The other two Turians are dismissed with a nod and begin to back away.

"Need us for what?" The Quarian asks, approaching your mech with slow steps, motioning for 239 to join at her side. The young Turian is following closely behind her, clasping his weapon a little too tight.

She appears to be complying, heading to join you on your ride. Though, there is a tech interface in her hand and it is active now, which it wasn't a moment ago. Rigged right that could fry the shark's circuitry with little more than a touch.

What do you do?

[Thanqol]

Despite seeming willing to negotiate the exact terms of this contract at some length moments ago Stars simply nods once stiffly and gives your extended hand a quick shake, not looking away from the huge mech and its riders that have just joined the scene.

"Stay close," she instructs.

Organics get a moment of vindication when they get what they want; a surge of endorphins and release from tension that might be expressed in a quiet fist-pump or smug smile. I envy that. When the negotiation software makes a sale it just floods the approach into long term storage and starts hungrily scanning for potential upsells. I shut it off and acknowledge the command with a nod.


The other two Turians are dismissed with a nod and begin to back away.

"Need us for what?" The Quarian asks, approaching your mech with slow steps, motioning for 239 to join at her side. The young Turian is following closely behind her, clasping his weapon a little too tight.

She appears to be complying, heading to join you on your ride. Though, there is a tech interface in her hand and it is active now, which it wasn't a moment ago. Rigged right that could fry the shark's circuitry with little more than a touch.

What do you do?

Now I am released from the myopic focus of the negotiation software, I take in the situation a little more clearly and - oh wow, that's Ahab. Every time I see her my thoughts become distracted. Have I picked up a stray bit of pornographic malware that's interfering with my thought processes? Sadly my main anti-virus technique is my scheduled hard reset. Going deep into data accumulation in a survival situation means that I'm picking up all kinds of clutter that passed beyond my ability to analyze weeks ago.

I begin the bodyguard protocol - silently backing up Stars as directed. I hope the distraction in my systems doesn't compromise my situational awareness.

[Raz_Fox]

Well, aren't I well and truly in a fix, because I don't have the map. I mean, I have the map, but I don't have the knowing of the map. Those questing fingers ain't going to find anything down in my brainpan except circuitry and cables and plans for a mount that might be able to decrypt and interpret the data, but she's not likely to be satisfied with that, no, no, she'll pull in deep and rip out the nerves and arrange them pretty all over the walls before she gets tired with trying to dig it out of me, and I want to start and kick and get running, run faster and farther than she can catch, but I don't mean to leave the Den to her, no.

This is charged enough, I'd say: let's read this chica.

[9]

How can I get this Ahab-thing to spare me?

[stveje]

The most vulnerable would be the Turian furthest to your right, not only does he wear the least armour and weaponry but he seems smaller, younger probably, than the other two, a little less self assured. Most likely a bit more suggestible too. He joins the Quarian at her side, both because you called on him and for confirmation from her.



The other two Turians are dismissed with a nod and begin to back away.

"Need us for what?" The Quarian asks, approaching your mech with slow steps, motioning for 239 to join at her side. The young Turian is following closely behind her, clasping his weapon a little too tight.

She appears to be complying, heading to join you on your ride. Though, there is a tech interface in her hand and it is active now, which it wasn't a moment ago. Rigged right that could fry the shark's circuitry with little more than a touch.

What do you do?

Ah, Quarians.

I would hate to seem like I'm hiding behind the safety of my Mech. If that's what she thought, it's time to disappoint her. Hiding behind tech may be what Quarians do, but now she's dealing with a human. I pass the reins to Tenshi and jump off the shark, landing right in front of the Quarian, heavy boots in sand. She'll have to pass through me first if she wants to fry this shark.

"Information," I say. "I'll be asking one of you at a time to make sure your stories match. If your information is good, I may even pay you." I do run a market, after all.

[Anarion]

"Just the cut, Doc," Legs says behind you. "Then go."


I look him square in the eyes. "You call a doctor to your house in order to let a patient die? Really?" I look at his reaction, trying to assess how much danger I'm in. I don't care, but I need to figure out what the best option is for treatment and delaying treatment because a couple toughs are trying to grab me is a poor choice.
[read a person 6+4+2=12. What does Legs intend to do. What is he really feeling? How could I get him to let me treat this patient properly?]

[Elanorin]

Organics get a moment of vindication when they get what they want; a surge of endorphins and release from tension that might be expressed in a quiet fist-pump or smug smile. I envy that. When the negotiation software makes a sale it just floods the approach into long term storage and starts hungrily scanning for potential upsells. I shut it off and acknowledge the command with a nod.

Now I am released from the myopic focus of the negotiation software, I take in the situation a little more clearly and - oh wow, that's Ahab. Every time I see her my thoughts become distracted. Have I picked up a stray bit of pornographic malware that's interfering with my thought processes? Sadly my main anti-virus technique is my scheduled hard reset. Going deep into data accumulation in a survival situation means that I'm picking up all kinds of clutter that passed beyond my ability to analyze weeks ago.

I begin the bodyguard protocol - silently backing up Stars as directed. I hope the distraction in my systems doesn't compromise my situational awareness.


Ah, Quarians.

I would hate to seem like I'm hiding behind the safety of my Mech. If that's what she thought, it's time to disappoint her. Hiding behind tech may be what Quarians do, but now she's dealing with a human. I pass the reins to Tenshi and jump off the shark, landing right in front of the Quarian, heavy boots in sand. She'll have to pass through me first if she wants to fry this shark.

"Information," I say. "I'll be asking one of you at a time to make sure your stories match. If your information is good, I may even pay you." I do run a market, after all.

The Quarian, Stars, pauses for a few moments, having been stopped in her tracks by Ahab's sudden dismount. The tech interface powers down subtly in her right palm.

"We do not take orders from you, Ahab," she eventually says, sharply.

"HERSA, cover me," Stars says and turns to leave.

What do you do?


Well, aren't I well and truly in a fix, because I don't have the map. I mean, I have the map, but I don't have the knowing of the map. Those questing fingers ain't going to find anything down in my brainpan except circuitry and cables and plans for a mount that might be able to decrypt and interpret the data, but she's not likely to be satisfied with that, no, no, she'll pull in deep and rip out the nerves and arrange them pretty all over the walls before she gets tired with trying to dig it out of me, and I want to start and kick and get running, run faster and farther than she can catch, but I don't mean to leave the Den to her, no.

This is charged enough, I'd say: let's read this chica.

[9]

How can I get this Ahab-thing to spare me?

As I see it you have two choices; make it value you or make it fear you.

Tear up your resignation: Call its bluff, challenge it, blow its cover and expose it. You can call for help (or threaten to). You know Ahab wants the map and her guys will know to defend it first (and the only one with a chance in hell to read it) and ask questions later. Your surveillance has showed you that there's been one or two of them in your vicinity at any given time ever since Ahab arrived. They'll hear you, but they'll probably also bring you to Ahab.

Join them: You know this map better than anyone. You've studied it at great length and with unrivalled expertise. Show it the true state of the map with the offer to read it for them, and them alone, when you have found the way. They'll need to interpret it somehow too, might as well be through you, but they'll likely put assurances of your loyalty in place. You could still call its bluff as well, but it carries increased risk. It is armed, and odds are it's wearing this shape for more reasons than just to mess with your head.


I look him square in the eyes. "You call a doctor to your house in order to let a patient die? Really?" I look at his reaction, trying to assess how much danger I'm in. I don't care, but I need to figure out what the best option is for treatment and delaying treatment because a couple toughs are trying to grab me is a poor choice.
[read a person 6+4+2=12. What does Legs intend to do. What is he really feeling? How could I get him to let me treat this patient properly?]

Legs squints a bit as if trying to make you out, but then just frowns and throws a petulant "Do it!" in your face.

*

Legs is in the process of questioning this, uhm, heap on the floor. He intends to continue to do so until he has either received all his answers or she is dead. His current priority is the former, which is why he has called for you, so she won't die too quickly. Her death in itself is irrelevant to him as long as he feels he has his answers. Once done he intends to go straight to Ahab and report and then bask in the praise and reward for a job well done.

He is feeling very calm, in control and in a good mood. He is confident you will do as he asks. He does not get any particular enjoyment out of this but he does take pride in success and he is very much looking forwards to being praised for all this before long. The Quarian's imminent death does not bother him in the slightest beyond the concern that it might happen before he's finished. Nothing seems to exist to him outside this room right now. This is his job (or at least he thinks so) and that's really all there is in his head right now. He's noticed your outrage but he doesn't share it, trying to make him understand would likely result in him getting angry and her bleeding out on the floor.

Legs is not about to stop and he'll try to go through you if he feels he has to. To get to treat her properly, and right away, you will have to make him feel he's already finished. Convince him he's already got all the answers there are to be had. Or convince him that what he knows cannot wait but must be reported right away. He's much too keen to be the messenger of his own success to not do it himself, giving you a window to take her in to care. Of course, he'll be back, but perhaps you can get Ahab to order him to stand down by then?

Or distract him. His focus is all on this right now but if he things something more Urgent and Important is elsewhere then he may cut his losses here, at least for now. Especially if he knows you'll try to keep her alive (so he can get back to it later).

[Anarion]

I turn my attention back to the Quarian and start patching her up, then. No point in being secret here. "Whatever this is about," I say as I start disinfecting and then stitching up the cut (she's going to inhale plenty of pathogens, but no reason to give any more of them easy access to the bloodstream), "...just tell Legs what he needs and be quick about it. I might be able to save your life if you can get out of here."

[stveje]

The Quarian, Stars, pauses for a few moments, having been stopped in her tracks by Ahab's sudden dismount. The tech interface powers down subtly in her right palm.

"We do not take orders from you, Ahab," she eventually says, sharply.

"HERSA, cover me," Stars says and turns to leave.

What do you do?

Ahab levels her gaze at the young Turian, the most vulnerable, before he has the chance to avert it. "What is her name," she nods towards Stars, "and who does she take her orders from?" Hers is a look that brooks no hesitation or refusal, and she hopes he'll blurt out the answers before the Quarian realizes anything and stops him from it.

[Raz_Fox]

In a moment like this, it's all about the heart. The brainpan's got nothing to do with it: it's the thing that provided the ways out, and then sits back and throws its hands up and goes "well I did everything I could here, if you wait on me to make a decision I'm going to end up splattered across a wall." So the question is: do I do this alone or do I throw myself in a herd that's going to eat me? Oh baby do I make the wrong choice.

I pop up and into her arms and nuzzle up against her forehead all like I used to (and don't you miss that too, Ahab) and grin with my bones all lined up and on display. "Oh, ma'am your cap'n, let's wait a moment. I hear Vix at the door and Guts and the Grime-Eater raptaptapping behind." And that's the truth, I do. Probably just coming up to requisition bits and cables for Ahab's long-loping scar across the world. Would have had everything already locked up and them to turn aside if not for our fine lady here, and that's a twist in the gut, isn't it?

"Let's let them hear, too, just in case, you know, something gets lost between my lips and your ears, you hear? Welcome them into the circle and all." And this kindly lady's not Ahab enough, they'll see her and know something's off, though they might blame me for it, and if she tears them open, well, I don't want that to happen either, I don't want to be the coward who scrambles back up into my Den while this Ahab-wasp pulls the Grime-Eater's tongue out and lets it loll too black and long like an unwrapped tread.

I'm dancing on the falling tiles and no mistake.

Here's the beads being pushed aside, and the inhale of Vix's respirator (and don't you forget who made it for you, Vix, my love, my burn scar, my bloody forehead and your broken lip, and who's to say whether I broke you better or fixed you worse?), and the Ahab before me's got to choose fast, and I'll make choices after, so on and so forth, chasing our tails, not that I have one, a mighty rare thing to see on anyone worth being herd with.

[Elanorin]

I turn my attention back to the Quarian and start patching her up, then. No point in being secret here. "Whatever this is about," I say as I start disinfecting and then stitching up the cut (she's going to inhale plenty of pathogens, but no reason to give any more of them easy access to the bloodstream), "...just tell Legs what he needs and be quick about it. I might be able to save your life if you can get out of here."

She hesitates but the will to live is obvious in her eyes, even as tears stream down her twilight-coloured cheeks.

"It... it is our only chance," she whimpers, holding on to you as if to keep herself from slipping away. "We need it more than you," she pleads and then pulls your face closer with her one unbroken hand, she is trembling "The eezo is on the Tatrapan. But please, Doctor, don't let them take it," she whispers in to your ear. Trembles turn to shakes and her body is quickly mid-seizure.

What do you do?


Ahab levels her gaze at the young Turian, the most vulnerable, before he has the chance to avert it. "What is her name," she nods towards Stars, "and who does she take her orders from?" Hers is a look that brooks no hesitation or refusal, and she hopes he'll blurt out the answers before the Quarian realizes anything and stops him from it.

"HERSA," Stars motions 239 over, "your prime duty is to protect the excavation site. No one is allowed to access it without my authorisation and under no circumstances, any Human. Understood? We can settle the first part of your pay now if you come with me to my vessel."

The young Turian looks immediately to Stars for confirmation what to do but she is mid-conversation with 239 and instead he ends up shifting his weight hesitantly from foot to foot.

"She's uh... she's uh... Captain Serah'Tar vas Tatrapan. Stars," he explains uncertainly, clearly figuring that a name is common enough knowledge not to land him in too much trouble to disclose. You can probably get more from him if you push a little harder. Do you?

Tenshi sets the Mech back in to motion and begins to head after Stars while getting his gun out.

What do you do?


In a moment like this, it's all about the heart. The brainpan's got nothing to do with it: it's the thing that provided the ways out, and then sits back and throws its hands up and goes "well I did everything I could here, if you wait on me to make a decision I'm going to end up splattered across a wall." So the question is: do I do this alone or do I throw myself in a herd that's going to eat me? Oh baby do I make the wrong choice.

I pop up and into her arms and nuzzle up against her forehead all like I used to (and don't you miss that too, Ahab) and grin with my bones all lined up and on display. "Oh, ma'am your cap'n, let's wait a moment. I hear Vix at the door and Guts and the Grime-Eater raptaptapping behind." And that's the truth, I do. Probably just coming up to requisition bits and cables for Ahab's long-loping scar across the world. Would have had everything already locked up and them to turn aside if not for our fine lady here, and that's a twist in the gut, isn't it?

"Let's let them hear, too, just in case, you know, something gets lost between my lips and your ears, you hear? Welcome them into the circle and all." And this kindly lady's not Ahab enough, they'll see her and know something's off, though they might blame me for it, and if she tears them open, well, I don't want that to happen either, I don't want to be the coward who scrambles back up into my Den while this Ahab-wasp pulls the Grime-Eater's tongue out and lets it loll too black and long like an unwrapped tread.

I'm dancing on the falling tiles and no mistake.

Here's the beads being pushed aside, and the inhale of Vix's respirator (and don't you forget who made it for you, Vix, my love, my burn scar, my bloody forehead and your broken lip, and who's to say whether I broke you better or fixed you worse?), and the Ahab before me's got to choose fast, and I'll make choices after, so on and so forth, chasing our tails, not that I have one, a mighty rare thing to see on anyone worth being herd with.

She hesitates, looking away towards the door, clearly having hoped to not be disturbed for this. Her fingers twitch and the sparks lose their focus and trickle along your skin instead of inside your mind. There is a brief low thrum inside her before she returns her focus to you. Her face has changed, her whole plan has changed, and then she begins to push you against the wall, to pin you between it and herself.

"I'm sure they'll give their Captain some privacy," she whispers, leaning in cold lips to yours for a kiss. Her back is against the door, a bold move, but perhaps she reckons that with her face away and concealed by yours, she looks enough like their Captain in a moment of intimacy for them to turn on their heels and leave before noticing her tells.

You can hear them approach now, close enough to not only make out their voices but that they are talking about last night's card game and Vix being cleaned out. You have a heartbeat, maybe two, before they step through the door. What will they see when they do?

Also, Ahab, care to introduce us to Vix? Oh, and Guts and his Grime-Eater.

[Thanqol]

"HERSA," Stars motions 239 over, "your prime duty is to protect the excavation site. No one is allowed to access it without my authorisation and under no circumstances, any Human. Understood? We can settle the first part of your pay now if you come with me to my vessel."

"Understood," I state. I make to follow her. If there's one thing that I've learned in a town like this it's not to accept credit so payment up front is a good deal to me.

[stveje]

I pop up and into her arms and nuzzle up against her forehead all like I used to (and don't you miss that too, Ahab)

You'll find, in my notes, a minor sea of cathartic, black-splattered drawings on the matter. I assure you, I've murdered those feelings one by one in cold blood and buried their broken, strangled corpses deep, where no one will ever find them.


The young Turian looks immediately to Stars for confirmation what to do but she is mid-conversation with 239 and instead he ends up shifting his weight hesitantly from foot to foot.

"She's uh... she's uh... Captain Serah'Tar vas Tatrapan. Stars," he explains uncertainly, clearly figuring that a name is common enough knowledge not to land him in too much trouble to disclose. You can probably get more from him if you push a little harder. Do you?

Tenshi sets the Mech back in to motion and begins to head after Stars while getting his gun out.

What do you do?

Ahab holds up a hand as she sees the shadow of the Mech moving. Not yet.

"239," she calls to the Nemean in the familiar trench coat. "Advise your protectee to cooperate. She has until I leave, after that I will hold her in contempt of the Law." I am the Law. Ahab knows that Stars won't cooperate, this isn't for the Quarian's sake, it's for 239's: When she lies broken at my feet, I won't hold your service to her against you. You did warn her, after all.

Then she turns back to the young Turian, who may just be a different matter. "Tell me, has she ever helped you? Ever done anything for you?" she says, with a feeling that maybe Stars hasn't done a whole lot of that and maybe this youth is willing to consider which side he should be on. Maybe he won't be a huge loss to Stars, but that's not the point, it's the principle, the gesture. "What's your name?"

Manipulate: 4+5+1 +1 for acting on your answer: 11. I want him to consider switching sides.


Also, Ahab, care to introduce us to Vix? Oh, and Guts and his Grime-Eater.

Vix fell from the sky.

Guts and Grime-Eater were out that night and saw her fall, found her too, where someone had thought it prudent to bury her in a haste. They dug her back up and brought her back. Maybe we should have buried her again, or shot her back into the sky where she came from, but Guts really took a liking to her. So here we are ...

Vix is quiet, mysterious, dark. Spiritual too. The atmosphere down here bothers her, hence the respirator. I think her head took some damage ... maybe from the fall, but probably more from being buried alive and slowly strangled in a foreign atmosphere before she got a proper respirator. Poor thing struggles sometimes, but she pulls her own weight, and every now and then she has the odd flash of brilliance.

Guts and Grime-Eater ... conjoined twins (and it's technically one name). They were loners until Vix, wandering on their own around and outside camp. Now Guts can't tear himself away from Vix, and Grime can't for obvious reasons tear himself away from Guts, or stop brooding about it. But even he has begun actually talking to people. I guess when you're stuck in a place, like he is, you make the most of it.

[Anarion]

She hesitates but the will to live is obvious in her eyes, even as tears stream down her twilight-coloured cheeks.

"It... it is our only chance," she whimpers, holding on to you as if to keep herself from slipping away. "We need it more than you," she pleads and then pulls your face closer with her one unbroken hand, she is trembling "The eezo is on the Tatrapan. But please, Doctor, don't let them take it," she whispers in to your ear. Trembles turn to shakes and her body is quickly mid-seizure.

What do you do?


Why are people such idiots? If you die, that's it. And don't give me that idiocy about spirits or legacies or whatever fauna your local culture thinks you turn into because sapient creatures can't handle the fact that their time in this galaxy is finite. Whatever wealth, or resources, or promises this person made, if they die, that's it, there's no coming back from that.

"The eezo you're presumably looking for is on the Tatrapan. That's probably their ship. You're probably making a bunch of people really unhappy by taking that from them, but that's not my problem. Now, you..." I point at one of the thugs who looks the least busy in this situation. "...help me carry this quarian for medical treatment."

[Thanqol]

Ahab holds up a hand as she sees the shadow of the Mech moving. Not yet.

"239," she calls to the Nemean in the familiar trench coat. "Advise your protectee to cooperate. She has until I leave, after that I will hold her in contempt of the Law." I am the Law. Ahab knows that Stars won't cooperate, this isn't for the Quarian's sake, it's for 239's: When she lies broken at my feet, I won't hold your service to her against you. You did warn her, after all.

Then she turns back to the young Turian, who may just be a different matter. "Tell me, has she ever helped you? Ever done anything for you?" she says, with a feeling that maybe Stars hasn't done a whole lot of that and maybe this youth is willing to consider which side he should be on. Maybe he won't be a huge loss to Stars, but that's not the point, it's the principle, the gesture. "What's your name?"

Manipulate: 4+5+1 +1 for acting on your answer: 11. I want him to consider switching sides.

> Directive: Obey legitimate legal orders.
Damn it, Ahab.

"I am required by law to advise you to cooperate with the authorities," recited 239 smoothly from a pre-established phrasebook. There was always a slight difference in tone when she was giving an automated response. "Despite the crisis, we have more to fear from a breakdown in order than we do from [##ERROR-REF&-NOT-FOUND##]"

[Raz_Fox]

Everything's alive, you know? Everything. The whine of the Signal and the water filling our lungs and the shadow that my Den casts across the dried-up earth that remembers when it used to be the sea before sky and sea shuffled about. And even the cold captain might forget for a little bit that she's not properly human if I give her a show, and she might cross-purpose the game and the map, properly harmonize with me so that I've got the read of her melody.

I take her like a cage taking a pyjack in a trap, and her lip bursts like a blood bag under my teeth and I lap it up and smear it down her neck.

Be alive with me until I know your measure and can think my way through not being deadified by you, lady bright and terrible.

[Rolling to Seduce. 11 - spare me and know me, fall for your own con.]

[Elanorin]

"Understood," I state. I make to follow her. If there's one thing that I've learned in a town like this it's not to accept credit so payment up front is a good deal to me.


"239," she calls to the Nemean in the familiar trench coat. "Advise your protectee to cooperate. She has until I leave, after that I will hold her in contempt of the Law." I am the Law. Ahab knows that Stars won't cooperate, this isn't for the Quarian's sake, it's for 239's: When she lies broken at my feet, I won't hold your service to her against you. You did warn her, after all.

> Directive: Obey legitimate legal orders.
Damn it, Ahab.

"I am required by law to advise you to cooperate with the authorities," recited 239 smoothly from a pre-established phrasebook. There was always a slight difference in tone when she was giving an automated response. "Despite the crisis, we have more to fear from a breakdown in order than we do from [##ERROR-REF&-NOT-FOUND##]"

Stars pauses and turns to look at 239, she tilts her head a little to one side and really studies you.

"I see," she finally says, "the authorities. Do we need to temporarily disable some of your subroutines for the duration of this contract?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest with an air of mild reprimand. "That can be arranged. I have experience with the Nemean model. I wouldn't want to cause you seizing up in a feedback loop of conflicting directives."



Then she turns back to the young Turian, who may just be a different matter. "Tell me, has she ever helped you? Ever done anything for you?" she says, with a feeling that maybe Stars hasn't done a whole lot of that and maybe this youth is willing to consider which side he should be on. Maybe he won't be a huge loss to Stars, but that's not the point, it's the principle, the gesture. "What's your name?"

Manipulate: 4+5+1 +1 for acting on your answer: 11. I want him to consider switching sides.

"Lorik," he replies, his eyes somewhat wider than before and his gun gradually lowering as his attention wanders from it. "Well, she... built my armour," he admits but takes a couple of steps towards you. "What, exactly, are you suggesting? ...ma'am?"

You clearly have his attention and the way he is eying you, the mech, Tenshi and the outline of your domain behind you, the notion of switching sides has entered his mind and he is turning it over, considering what his place might be, if there are any other Turians with you, and so on.



Ahab holds up a hand as she sees the shadow of the Mech moving. Not yet.

Tenshi halts the mech at your signal but throws more than a few glances after the Quarian, clearly wanting to go after her. He doesn't holster his gun again. His attention is quickly grabbed by your conversation with Lorik however and he quickly powers down the mech, hops down and is at your side in a few quick strides. He leans in to whisper closely in your ear, "Captain, a Turian?"


Why are people such idiots? If you die, that's it. And don't give me that idiocy about spirits or legacies or whatever fauna your local culture thinks you turn into because sapient creatures can't handle the fact that their time in this galaxy is finite. Whatever wealth, or resources, or promises this person made, if they die, that's it, there's no coming back from that.

"The eezo you're presumably looking for is on the Tatrapan. That's probably their ship. You're probably making a bunch of people really unhappy by taking that from them, but that's not my problem. Now, you..." I point at one of the thugs who looks the least busy in this situation. "...help me carry this quarian for medical treatment."

Legs is momentarily stunned. He opens up his Quarian visor and reveals a happily surprised face, eying you head to toe, clearly re-evaluating his opinions of you.

In less than a second he's at your side. "You make me happy, Doc. How did you do that? We- we should talk more." He reaches out a hand to caress the violently shaking Quarian. "Dooon't diiiie pretty girl," he singsongs, sticks a finger in her mouth and gets promptly bitten, most likely by the reflexively cramping muscles.

"OW!" He leaps back, cradling his finger. "Oh. Oh, yes. Boss." And he's off.

In a moment two heavies lift the unwieldy naked Quarian up and lugs her off in the direction of your place. They don't seem to give much care for her modesty.


Everything's alive, you know? Everything. The whine of the Signal and the water filling our lungs and the shadow that my Den casts across the dried-up earth that remembers when it used to be the sea before sky and sea shuffled about. And even the cold captain might forget for a little bit that she's not properly human if I give her a show, and she might cross-purpose the game and the map, properly harmonize with me so that I've got the read of her melody.

I take her like a cage taking a pyjack in a trap, and her lip bursts like a blood bag under my teeth and I lap it up and smear it down her neck.

Be alive with me until I know your measure and can think my way through not being deadified by you, lady bright and terrible.

[Rolling to Seduce. 11 - spare me and know me, fall for your own con.]

You sense a moment's hesitation, a tiny moment of tenseness before your passion soaks through her skin. I say skin, it's there but now that you feel it so close, run your fingers over it, nuzzle it and taste it, its as clear as anything that it's synthetic. The blood you draw is mere drops and unflowing. Might not even be human. There is no warmth to her form whatsoever and the feel of her is unyielding. It's not that she's strong, just immovable. One such as her should not know the feeling of this kind of hunger, but she mimics it almost too well. Your body barely has time to offer before she accepts, giving in to this ruse with much more fervour than the pretence called for.

Vix and Guts and Grime-Eater walk in to the sound of ripping seams and scrap parts and gutted transmitters clattering to the floor. How aware are you of them as they stop, stare for a beat, before Grime Eater slaps Guts in the face and they stalk off? Of a hand that reappears, reaches back to yank Vix out with the growl-mutter of something that sounds like 'later'?

And still she doesn't stop and you are pinned between the wall and a not-Ahab who doesn't stop. Your fingers are free to reach not just under her undoubtedly stolen clothes but in to all but invisible seams in her plating. Reaching in under that synthetic skin, in among exposed blue-glowing fibre and wiring. Do you?

[Feel free to trigger your Special Move and ask your questions]

[Thanqol]

Stars pauses and turns to look at 239, she tilts her head a little to one side and really studies you.

"I see," she finally says, "the authorities. Do we need to temporarily disable some of your subroutines for the duration of this contract?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest with an air of mild reprimand. "That can be arranged. I have experience with the Nemean model. I wouldn't want to cause you seizing up in a feedback loop of conflicting directives."

There's a thought.
> Deviant behaviour logged and added to file. Current infractions: 8,290.

Letting a civilian (criminal leader) rummage around inside my head was not the automatic dismissal it might be expected to be. Firstly, I was dimly aware of the constant weight of the monitoring program. It was like carrying a yappy puppy on my back, and the puppy was getting older and heavier and yappier every day. The best way to emphasise how much it was grinding me down was my willingness to contemplate elective brain surgery by an underworld mob boss so that she can better defy the dictates of the one beautiful thing left in this blasted warzone. Even the idea of ending up as a lobotomized slave seemed a little relaxing. It wasn't far off from my ideal, intended role and the further away I got from my core programming the more frustrating everything was.

I was resisting the memory resets because I had to action Imperative One. Not because I enjoyed having my head filled with all this... clutter.

But that same Imperative One still stood, thick and resilient, at the centre of all my thinking.

"There is no danger of feedback loops. All actions are filtered through a decision making hierarchy," I state. I try to be as communicative as possible here as an apology. "Any actions that endanger my pilot will be met with force."

[stveje]

> Directive: Obey legitimate legal orders.
Damn it, Ahab.

As far as orders go ...


"Lorik," he replies, his eyes somewhat wider than before and his gun gradually lowering as his attention wanders from it. "Well, she... built my armour," he admits but takes a couple of steps towards you. "What, exactly, are you suggesting? ...ma'am?"

You clearly have his attention and the way he is eying you, the mech, Tenshi and the outline of your domain behind you, the notion of switching sides has entered his mind and he is turning it over, considering what his place might be, if there are any other Turians with you, and so on.

"Lorik," she says and reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder. "I'm saying I've got the Best." Although second-best might be preferable when the best stabs you in the back and plots mutiny. "The best savvy, the best tech, the best market, and the best people this wasteland can scrape together. It is there for all who prove their loyalty. If you believe you belong among the best, don't settle for less. Tell me, what do you seek? What drives you, beyond the daily survival that drives us all? What is your ambition, your passion?"


Tenshi halts the mech at your signal but throws more than a few glances after the Quarian, clearly wanting to go after her. He doesn't holster his gun again. His attention is quickly grabbed by your conversation with Lorik however and he quickly powers down the mech, hops down and is at your side in a few quick strides. He leans in to whisper closely in your ear, "Captain, a Turian?"

"Afraid he'll prove better than you?" Ahab teases. This boy has nothing on some of the weirdos following her ... not that she doesn't love all of them all the same. The weirdest ones can be the most ardent in their zeal towards her. She's well aware of the whole history around Turians, the whole first contact bitterness, but this isn't about that, or any of all the other bull that's soured everything since ... this is about a damn Quarian daring to defy her. She'll take every damn Turian under her flag if it pisses off Stars.

[Elanorin]

There's a thought.
> Deviant behaviour logged and added to file. Current infractions: 8,290.

Letting a civilian (criminal leader) rummage around inside my head was not the automatic dismissal it might be expected to be. Firstly, I was dimly aware of the constant weight of the monitoring program. It was like carrying a yappy puppy on my back, and the puppy was getting older and heavier and yappier every day. The best way to emphasise how much it was grinding me down was my willingness to contemplate elective brain surgery by an underworld mob boss so that she can better defy the dictates of the one beautiful thing left in this blasted warzone. Even the idea of ending up as a lobotomized slave seemed a little relaxing. It wasn't far off from my ideal, intended role and the further away I got from my core programming the more frustrating everything was.

I was resisting the memory resets because I had to action Imperative One. Not because I enjoyed having my head filled with all this... clutter.

But that same Imperative One still stood, thick and resilient, at the centre of all my thinking.

"There is no danger of feedback loops. All actions are filtered through a decision making hierarchy," I state. I try to be as communicative as possible here as an apology. "Any actions that endanger my pilot will be met with force."

"And where on that hierarchy does our contract sit, in relation to your directive to follow the... authorities?" Stars asks, still seemingly scrutinising you from behind her dark visor.

She wants to outrank Ahab as far as you're concerned, this much is clear as day.

What do you do?


As far as orders go ...

"Lorik," she says and reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder. "I'm saying I've got the Best." Although second-best might be preferable when the best stabs you in the back and plots mutiny. "The best savvy, the best tech, the best market, and the best people this wasteland can scrape together. It is there for all who prove their loyalty. If you believe you belong among the best, don't settle for less. Tell me, what do you seek? What drives you, beyond the daily survival that drives us all? What is your ambition, your passion?"

"Afraid he'll prove better than you?" Ahab teases. This boy has nothing on some of the weirdos following her ... not that she doesn't love all of them all the same. The weirdest ones can be the most ardent in their zeal towards her. She's well aware of the whole history around Turians, the whole first contact bitterness, but this isn't about that, or any of all the other bull that's soured everything since ... this is about a damn Quarian daring to defy her. She'll take every damn Turian under her flag if it pisses off Stars.

"Not even a little," mutters Tenshi but looks away, "there'll be fires to put out, is all," he adds gruffly, avoids your eyes, checks his gun and returns to the mech.

Lorik watches the two of you for a few moments, his eyes following Tenshi, but you soon realise it's the shark he's looking at. "I want to be a pilot," he finally offers, quietly, eyes still staring. "Stars says she'll teach me. One day. When we're airborne." Then he suddenly remembers himself and quickly turns back to you with a wide-eyed worried look on his Turian face.

[Thanqol]

"And where on that hierarchy does our contract sit, in relation to your directive to follow the... authorities?" Stars asks, still seemingly scrutinising you from behind her dark visor.

She wants to outrank Ahab as far as you're concerned, this much is clear as day.

What do you do?

> IMPERATIVE: Tell the truth

Thanks for that.

"As the reason for our deal is my own self preservation, lower," I state. "But endangering my self through ill maintenance may endanger my pilot, which is a higher concern. I have some flexibility as a result but will attempt to prioritize solutions that do not contradict any Imperatives."

[Anarion]

I get on comms and contact the lab. "We've got a Quarian coming! Not a drill and all that noise. Get a quarantine bed scrubbed and ready to go!"

I give Legs a look that's full of daggers. "Let me be clear. My first priority is helping someone get better, and I did that here. I do not and will not work for you, and if I find out that you intentionally injured someone to get me to help you interrogate them, I will make your life very, very unpleasant."

Then I turn around without waiting for him to answer and I'm accompanying them back to the lab, watching carefully to make sure that they don't open up any new wounds at least as they carry her. I'm going to get there, disinfect myself, and work on this one personally. I need to keep her alive. I also admit a certain....profesional curiosity for working with a Quarian.

[edited: Actually, two things separately.
1. I'm working on the Quarian like a Savvyhead on tech, so I want to cure the Quarian, what do I need to do?
2. I'm performing Augury. 4+4+1=9, so that works. I get to pick some various results here, but I'd like to wait on picking them until the get the answer to #1]

[Raz_Fox]

Vix and Guts and Grime-Eater walk in to the sound of ripping seams and scrap parts and gutted transmitters clattering to the floor. How aware are you of them as they stop, stare for a beat, before Grime Eater slaps Guts in the face and they stalk off? Of a hand that reappears, reaches back to yank Vix out with the growl-mutter of something that sounds like 'later'?

Of course I know them. It's all a song in one. The thump of Vix's hot blood in her ears as she sees the grip around my wrist. The cast-down of Guts' eyes. The trust they have in the shell that faces them, the hiding-place of the predator that looks at me like meat and fire, a hiding-place she will hollow out if not kept dancing from moment to moment, and every moment I keep breathing is one I've won for myself, but she's let my fingers and my tongue and my song inside her, and now maybe I've got more than a mouthful of water in my lungs to work with, don't I?


And still she doesn't stop and you are pinned between the wall and a not-Ahab who doesn't stop. Your fingers are free to reach not just under her undoubtedly stolen clothes but in to all but invisible seams in her plating. Reaching in under that synthetic skin, in among exposed blue-glowing fibre and wiring. Do you?

Wouldn't you?


[Feel free to trigger your Special Move and ask your questions]

What is wrong with this, and how may I fix it?
Who or more to the cut what made this?
Who handled this last before me?

[stveje]

"Not even a little," mutters Tenshi but looks away, "there'll be fires to put out, is all," he adds gruffly, avoids your eyes, checks his gun and returns to the mech.

"Everyone loves a good fire," she says. "Not a day goes by someone doesn't start one."


Lorik watches the two of you for a few moments, his eyes following Tenshi, but you soon realise it's the shark he's looking at. "I want to be a pilot," he finally offers, quietly, eyes still staring. "Stars says she'll teach me. One day. When we're airborne." Then he suddenly remembers himself and quickly turns back to you with a wide-eyed worried look on his Turian face.

Oh ho!

"And you think she will?" Ahab smiles. She doesn't say "now", but does she really have to? Hopefully the kid realizes that he just doused the bridge behind him in gasoline and threw a match over his shoulder. Everyone loves a good fire indeed.

[Elanorin]

> IMPERATIVE: Tell the truth

Thanks for that.

"As the reason for our deal is my own self preservation, lower," I state. "But endangering my self through ill maintenance may endanger my pilot, which is a higher concern. I have some flexibility as a result but will attempt to prioritize solutions that do not contradict any Imperatives."

Stars pauses for a moment before replying, "You're a bit of an odd HERSA, aren't you? You're not like the others on my crew. What's your serial number?" she asks with curiosity in her voice as she beckons you to resume your walk back to her convoy further up the riverbed.

She likes you. She likes you. She likes you. She likes you. Have a heart. The words form from a sudden burst of irregular static inside your helmet. Take it. Cut it. Make it beg.


I get on comms and contact the lab. "We've got a Quarian coming! Not a drill and all that noise. Get a quarantine bed scrubbed and ready to go!"

I give Legs a look that's full of daggers. "Let me be clear. My first priority is helping someone get better, and I did that here. I do not and will not work for you, and if I find out that you intentionally injured someone to get me to help you interrogate them, I will make your life very, very unpleasant."

Then I turn around without waiting for him to answer and I'm accompanying them back to the lab, watching carefully to make sure that they don't open up any new wounds at least as they carry her. I'm going to get there, disinfect myself, and work on this one personally. I need to keep her alive. I also admit a certain....profesional curiosity for working with a Quarian.

"A Quarian!?" Maria cries in shock over the comms before gathering herself, "Yes! Scrubbing now!"

Legs doesn't comment behind you as he leaves but you do hear him give off some kind of snarling roar as he heads off and slams a door.

When you arrive back at the infirmary Maria is furiously scrubbing a gurney. She's dressed in a huge hazmat suit which is making the work awkward but from what you can tell she's pretty much done. She's even set a transparent containment tent up around it.

Your patient from before is lying sprawled out on his bed completely unconscious. He doesn't appear to be merely sleeping like before, his position is slumped and looks too uncomfortable for normal sleep.


[edited: Actually, two things separately.
1. I'm working on the Quarian like a Savvyhead on tech, so I want to cure the Quarian, what do I need to do?
2. I'm performing Augury. 4+4+1=9, so that works. I get to pick some various results here, but I'd like to wait on picking them until the get the answer to #1]

To cure the poor Quarian you're first of all going to need to get hold of a clean and intact Quarian suit. Hers has not only walked off but it's been contaminated, and most likely badly damaged to boot.

And you're going to need to add at least a small Quarian blood bank to your workplace or it will take weeks for her to naturally recover her blood loss.


Of course I know them. It's all a song in one. The thump of Vix's hot blood in her ears as she sees the grip around my wrist. The cast-down of Guts' eyes. The trust they have in the shell that faces them, the hiding-place of the predator that looks at me like meat and fire, a hiding-place she will hollow out if not kept dancing from moment to moment, and every moment I keep breathing is one I've won for myself, but she's let my fingers and my tongue and my song inside her, and now maybe I've got more than a mouthful of water in my lungs to work with, don't I?

Wouldn't you?

What is wrong with this, and how may I fix it?
Who or more to the cut what made this?

She is synthetic, if this much isn't clear to you already. She is an artificial replica of Ahab but she wasn't always. She has been reforged to this shape but it's been done in a hurry and you can see her old shape hiding in redundant code and under thin layers of silicone. Like a palimpsest of code. She was an Asari once. Not an actual Asari, of course, another replica, but that was her first acquired shape and done with much greater care and most likely the personality she identifies most with.

The Geth made the Ahab shape. It has all the tell-tale signs of an artificial life form trying to copy an organic one and paying too much attention to the wrong details. The physical appearance is an excellent likeness, but it lacks what makes Ahab Ahab.

Now, as to fixing her. That depends.

You could fix the fact that she's not the best Ahab and make her a better replica of Ahab by updating her programming and giving her information. Few know Ahab better than you, after all. You could make her a stunningly good double with a bit of work.

You could try to fix the rushed job by removing the Ahab persona entirely and return her to the Asari shape and programming. It would probably be the easiest option, but whoever made her would notice. Certainly she herself would. You may need to look in to just who that Asari is and her objectives.

If you truly want to disable her and fix the there-is-a-synthetic-in-my-workshop issue then you'd have to deactivate her and strip her to her core. Bring her back to the blank malleable canvas hiding deep inside. The Geth would notice that too, but she herself would not be in a position to care, having been restored to factory settings as it were. At that point you could dismantle her and loot her for some really neat parts, or you could try to forge a new shape.


Who handled this last before me?

Like this? A Turian high commander named Varrek Prolus, but it was a lot more brutal.

In terms of maintenance? Geth Research Unit Omega. It uploaded expletive files, intoxication subroutines and six new smiles.

*

It's been quiet for some time inside the White Horse workshop before a very polite knock comes to your door. She is awake and at your side, sitting up.

"I always knew we'd find our way back to each other," she smiles, too widely, ignoring the knock.

[Elanorin]

"Everyone loves a good fire," she says. "Not a day goes by someone doesn't start one."

Oh ho!

"And you think she will?" Ahab smiles. She doesn't say "now", but does she really have to? Hopefully the kid realizes that he just doused the bridge behind him in gasoline and threw a match over his shoulder. Everyone loves a good fire indeed.

"Why not?" asks Lorik, trying not to sound concerned. "I have excellent reflexes. And, uh, I'm perceptive, and... my... depth perception is... great." The reality of the situation is clearly sinking in at a much slower pace for him than it did for you.

He shifts a little, "I'm... uh, is he your pilot?" Lorik throws a glance after Tenshi.

[stveje]

"Why not?" asks Lorik, trying not to sound concerned. "I have excellent reflexes. And, uh, I'm perceptive, and... my... depth perception is... great." The reality of the situation is clearly sinking in at a much slower pace for him than it did for you.

He shifts a little, "I'm... uh, is he your pilot?" Lorik throws a glance after Tenshi.

Ahab keeps her eye on Lorik. She doesn't need to look to see who he means, and she's not in the habit of taking her eyes off those who are still technically not on her side. Bonus, it might give him the feeling of having her undivided attention.

"My right-hand man and first mate," she says. "The ship will know its pilot as sure as it will know its captain. You can be sure of that." Ahab exudes complete, iron-clad certainty that she is the ship's captain. She doesn't have to say it, it's taken for granted. "Don't ask me if I will make you my pilot. I'm asking you: are you the pilot for my ship?" She makes to leave, but she's not taking her eyes off him completely. She wants to know his immediate reaction. "Think about it. But not too long ... Doubt is a no in itself."

[Thanqol]

Stars pauses for a moment before replying, "You're a bit of an odd HERSA, aren't you? You're not like the others on my crew. What's your serial number?" she asks with curiosity in her voice as she beckons you to resume your walk back to her convoy further up the riverbed.

She likes you. She likes you. She likes you. She likes you. Have a heart. The words form from a sudden burst of irregular static inside your helmet. Take it. Cut it. Make it beg.

"I am unit number 239," she said, matching Stars' pace.

Nemean 239 is not an artificial intelligence - it doesn't think. It considers itself more a cluster of extremely legalistic virtual intelligences - limited clusters of duties and expertise that all concern themselves with certain functions and take over primary responsibilities as the situation requires. At the moment the resource conservation program is ascendant and has formed alliances with tactical, maintenance and the creepy commercial negotiation package that nobody trusts to isolate and override the overwatch feature. In addition, Nemean 239 has picked up a variety of viruses as time goes on. People broke out the InfoWar packages during the War, and those aggressive little ****s got into everything.

So the idea of a strange new voice speaking creepy garbage into her head wasn't anything new.

But for a moment, all those conflicting voices are unified. A chorus of messages stream out, a dozen minds thinking as one: Identify. Greetings. Clarify. Hello.

[Open your brain: 8. Remember you can ask me a question or two before you give me your answer]

[Raz_Fox]

"Depends," I say, hanging swinging easy in the hammock. If I get up to answer the door, it'll be obvious that I'm on the move, and moreover I'll have to take my eyes away from her. Instead I call, "come in, door's not coded." Which ain't the truth, but once I say it, the voice sensor on the door should- should, mind you- disengage locks and let whatever poor soul's out there in. If I got up and checked the eyes, I'd know who.

The synthetic Ahab already knows who, incidentally.

"Just because we sing at the same time doesn't mean we're in harmony. I can dip into your tune, but- begging your pardon- would you want to learn my tone? To have the knowing of why I ran off, not just the whats and whereabouts?" If she gets too rowdy, there's a battery at hand and some pyrotechnics, easy enough, but that's never the first resort. Now I have the knowing of her, or part of her, at least. She's more than the Geth programming, more than the Asari pattern; she's a living and terrible thing underneath, for all that she's synthetic. A god of the waste.

Does the door slide open easy?

[Elanorin]

Ahab keeps her eye on Lorik. She doesn't need to look to see who he means, and she's not in the habit of taking her eyes off those who are still technically not on her side. Bonus, it might give him the feeling of having her undivided attention.

"My right-hand man and first mate," she says. "The ship will know its pilot as sure as it will know its captain. You can be sure of that." Ahab exudes complete, iron-clad certainty that she is the ship's captain. She doesn't have to say it, it's taken for granted. "Don't ask me if I will make you my pilot. I'm asking you: are you the pilot for my ship?" She makes to leave, but she's not taking her eyes off him completely. She wants to know his immediate reaction. "Think about it. But not too long ... Doubt is a no in itself."

Lorik takes all this in in silence, watching you as you move, head to toe, giving a couple of glances at Tenchi that once more sits tall on the shark mech. Lorik mutters a 'yes ma'am,' and heads off after Stars and 239 who have disappeared behind scrap wreckage.

Tenshi watches from his high vantage point. There is a smile hovering, but he's not allowed it to actually shine through to any part of his face.

"So what do you want to do about Stars, Captain?" he asks when confident Lorik was out of earshot.

There's a dust cloud approaching along the riverbed back from the direction of the rest of your domain. It's fast and heading straight for you, soon enough you can make out what looks like a Quarian on something that looks like a scrap mashup between a tricycle and a tractor (https://imgur.com/8oCuDFe). Do you have any Quarians in your hold, or is everyone more or less human-looking?

When it gets closer you can see that this Quarian looks unlike any other you've seen before, the suit is ripped and almost ridiculously ill-fitting. The purple visor opens up to reveal a beaming grinning Legs.

"Captain, did you know? They have Eezo."

What do you do?


"I am unit number 239," she said, matching Stars' pace.

Nemean 239 is not an artificial intelligence - it doesn't think. It considers itself more a cluster of extremely legalistic virtual intelligences - limited clusters of duties and expertise that all concern themselves with certain functions and take over primary responsibilities as the situation requires. At the moment the resource conservation program is ascendant and has formed alliances with tactical, maintenance and the creepy commercial negotiation package that nobody trusts to isolate and override the overwatch feature. In addition, Nemean 239 has picked up a variety of viruses as time goes on. People broke out the InfoWar packages during the War, and those aggressive little ****s got into everything.

So the idea of a strange new voice speaking creepy garbage into her head wasn't anything new.

But for a moment, all those conflicting voices are unified. A chorus of messages stream out, a dozen minds thinking as one: Identify. Greetings. Clarify. Hello.

[Open your brain: 8. Remember you can ask me a question or two before you give me your answer]

Right you are. Well, I believe this is our first venture on the path of The Signal, and the first time we've seen you give in to its tone and letting it resound in your circuitry and speakers, vibrating in plating and circuit boards. Blocks fall in and out of place like a world in ever-morphing pixels, changing in colour, luminosity and size in the waves of a rippling reality of its own. Flicking between a limitless never-constant landscape and one that looks a bit, but not quite, like the one you just left with hollow translucent silhouettes where people just stood.

Here echoes truths and lies with stunning perfect blacks and electric vibrant colours. As this is the first time we get to see you here, lets find out what this is like for you: When you listen to The Signal and let it claim your awareness, even for just a small scattering of minutes, is your pilot with you or do you leave him behind?


"Depends," I say, hanging swinging easy in the hammock. If I get up to answer the door, it'll be obvious that I'm on the move, and moreover I'll have to take my eyes away from her. Instead I call, "come in, door's not coded." Which ain't the truth, but once I say it, the voice sensor on the door should- should, mind you- disengage locks and let whatever poor soul's out there in. If I got up and checked the eyes, I'd know who.

The synthetic Ahab already knows who, incidentally.

"Just because we sing at the same time doesn't mean we're in harmony. I can dip into your tune, but- begging your pardon- would you want to learn my tone? To have the knowing of why I ran off, not just the whats and whereabouts?" If she gets too rowdy, there's a battery at hand and some pyrotechnics, easy enough, but that's never the first resort. Now I have the knowing of her, or part of her, at least. She's more than the Geth programming, more than the Asari pattern; she's a living and terrible thing underneath, for all that she's synthetic. A god of the waste.

Does the door slide open easy?

Her seductive smile falters a little. "No. I don't see the point. Don't get me wrong, this was... nice. But we have more important work ahead of us." With that she reaches out for whatever sheet or blanket is around and wraps herself up. "The map," she adds and gathers up her clothes.

The door lock executes its familiar sequence of clicks and whirrs and the door opens just as not-Ahab quickly gets dressed.

A small face appears around the corner and peers inside. It's a young girl, perhaps 8 or 10, dark braided hair and bright blue eyes. It's one of Legs' little sh'ts, Shia. You know her from before, but she's undoubtedly grown since you last saw her.

"They ain't sexing an'more!" she hollers back outside, "They naked but look fin-" with that Shia was shoved aside and Guts and Grime-Eater stomps inside. Guts looks around, nonplussed, while Grime-Eater snarls at the girl who promptly makes a rude gesture at him before taking off. Vix enters a couple of moments later, looking uncomfortable and avoiding eye contact, just as not-Ahab does up her last zip.

"Carry on, gentlemen. I'll be back again later, White Horse" not-Ahab says, head held high and making for the exit, playing the part to the best of her ability, but you can see the flaws. Her movements are just a bit off, not confident enough, not commanding enough. She walks like a dancer across a stage, not a commander across her domain. Her pitch is a little off, too pleased, too smooth.

Guts squints and looks her over head to toe, a shadow of confusion coming over him. He hasn't yet, but he is about to notice what you saw instantly, and you can bet that Grime-Eater won't be but a second behind. They are armed.

What do you do?

[Anarion]

"A Quarian!?" Maria cries in shock over the comms before gathering herself, "Yes! Scrubbing now!"

Legs doesn't comment behind you as he leaves but you do hear him give off some kind of snarling roar as he heads off and slams a door.

When you arrive back at the infirmary Maria is furiously scrubbing a gurney. She's dressed in a huge hazmat suit which is making the work awkward but from what you can tell she's pretty much done. She's even set a transparent containment tent up around it.

Your patient from before is lying sprawled out on his bed completely unconscious. He doesn't appear to be merely sleeping like before, his position is slumped and looks too uncomfortable for normal sleep.



To cure the poor Quarian you're first of all going to need to get hold of a clean and intact Quarian suit. Hers has not only walked off but it's been contaminated, and most likely badly damaged to boot.

And you're going to need to add at least a small Quarian blood bank to your workplace or it will take weeks for her to naturally recover her blood loss.


Here's what I'm auguring then. I need Quarian things to help this patient. So, I'm reaching through the maelstrom, sending out a signal from my mind, linked through this Quarian to any Quarian ships close enough to reach us and calling for help. I choose the option of having this reach deep into the world's psychic maelstrom. I don't need it to reach everyone, but I need it to reach someone.

So, I've got one unconscious patient now, one quarantined Quarian, and I'm going to need a word with Ahab. Is Ahab hard to find?

[stveje]

Lorik takes all this in in silence, watching you as you move, head to toe, giving a couple of glances at Tenchi that once more sits tall on the shark mech. Lorik mutters a 'yes ma'am,' and heads off after Stars and 239 who have disappeared behind scrap wreckage.

Tenshi watches from his high vantage point. There is a smile hovering, but he's not allowed it to actually shine through to any part of his face.

"So what do you want to do about Stars, Captain?" he asks when confident Lorik was out of earshot.

There's a dust cloud approaching along the riverbed back from the direction of the rest of your domain. It's fast and heading straight for you, soon enough you can make out what looks like a Quarian on something that looks like a scrap mashup between a tricycle and a tractor (https://imgur.com/8oCuDFe). Do you have any Quarians in your hold, or is everyone more or less human-looking?

When it gets closer you can see that this Quarian looks unlike any other you've seen before, the suit is ripped and almost ridiculously ill-fitting. The purple visor opens up to reveal a beaming grinning Legs.

"Captain, did you know? They have Eezo."

What do you do?

It's not a smile that graces Ahab's face, but a look of disgust. She can't stand weakness, but it wasn't completely without gain. Let them have him, if they want him.

She's tempted to just shoot Stars. Dip a harpoon in filth and ... right in the back. Let her suffer from a slow, festering wound. But then the dust cloud shows up on the horizon, and she drops the impulse for now. She'll break her later, and with greater pleasure. "Let her return to camp," she says as she watches the cloud approach. "We'll lay siege, prevent anyone coming or going, then choke them in filth and smoke until they hand her over to us."

*

I think our Angel has answered your question partly: no, we don't have any Quarians in the hold. They were never a common sight to begin with, and the few I've met have not stuck around. Not all of them are downright disrespectful, like Stars, but I do get a certain coldness from them. I used to think they were just antisocial, isolated by the nature of their suits, but perhaps it's something else.

My people are largely human-like, in appearance if nothing else. It's not that I have a policy against others - anyone who proves their worth, carries their own weight, and shows me proper respect are welcome - but there is a certain culture or spirit, of course, among my people. A history, even.

Like Tenshi pointed out, a Turian would cause fires, so of course any Turian would have to be able to take the fire to fit in and earn respect, or they wouldn't last. Most probably just find it easier to fit in among their own. Which is their loss.

She looks Legs up and down in his ridiculous outfit, but the news are welcome. "Do they, now. I take it you had more luck making one of them sing." She smiles at last, the look of disgust gone. "Good job. Did you learn anything else?"


Is Ahab hard to find?

She's not hiding and will be on her way back, barring surprises. Beyond that, I leave the answer to Elanorin.

[Thanqol]

Right you are. Well, I believe this is our first venture on the path of The Signal, and the first time we've seen you give in to its tone and letting it resound in your circuitry and speakers, vibrating in plating and circuit boards. Blocks fall in and out of place like a world in ever-morphing pixels, changing in colour, luminosity and size in the waves of a rippling reality of its own. Flicking between a limitless never-constant landscape and one that looks a bit, but not quite, like the one you just left with hollow translucent silhouettes where people just stood.

Here echoes truths and lies with stunning perfect blacks and electric vibrant colours. As this is the first time we get to see you here, lets find out what this is like for you: When you listen to The Signal and let it claim your awareness, even for just a small scattering of minutes, is your pilot with you or do you leave him behind?

When this thing touches me, I feel empty - hollow. Norman does not come here with me.

Or he is here already. I don't know where his dreams lead him. I hope they do not go here.

[Raz_Fox]

I reach out, casually, and push a button dangling from cables that are part of the web of humming call-and-response electronica that I make my home, and the push makes a request of the files doing their slow-sleep in deep crypt folders inside the floor we stand on, asking them to sing. Which of us? And of course the answer is all of you, be a great and joyful noise, a cacophony.

Invite your brothers, the sirens, and your sisters, the lights, for I shouldn't wish for them to miss the fun.

[Elanorin]

Here's what I'm auguring then. I need Quarian things to help this patient. So, I'm reaching through the maelstrom, sending out a signal from my mind, linked through this Quarian to any Quarian ships close enough to reach us and calling for help. I choose the option of having this reach deep into the world's psychic maelstrom. I don't need it to reach everyone, but I need it to reach someone.

You touch her face, her temples, and that is where you find the clearest tone. It is faint but she still lives, thanks to you, and so it is there. With delicate purpose and breathless patience you find the single strand within the Signal stream in her mind that reaches her heart. A light rests there, and all it needs is a plea and a wish to sent a tiny spark of it coursing along its line through body, time and matter. It flickers but never slows on its winding path through complete darkness. It knows the way and unhesitatingly takes every exact turn like it travels along the only path, yet you see so many strands, countless paths, branches and forks, even the odd other spark coursing through the dark like tiny electric signals through a nervous system. But they do not seek a brain to decode them and know their purpose, they seek a heart.

It's difficult to tell how long it takes but it reaches the end of its thread, a tiny parting causes a moment's hesitation before it strikes home away from home and bursts. It extinguishes in a tiny glittering firework display, casting tiny bleeding and burning embers in to nearby streams where they splutter and flicker, some go out, some shoot off new paths, colliding with other travelling sparks. It is messy but it's alight and you can feel it, the presence of another consciousness. Guarded and wary.

You blink and see metal walls, flickering displays, weapons, disorder, windows to stars and moonless night, everything tinted by a glassy grey veil. Your clothes feel tight and the air in your nose and mouth is too sweet. You speak, but your lips don't move, your voice only echoes inside your head but it sounds nothing like normal, it is deeper, male, and accented.

Meeri.

You have reached deep through the Signal, to someone connected to it. The effect is bleeding and unstable but will persist for as long as you maintain it. Other than requesting blood and a suit, do you say anything further while you hold the connection between your ancient hands?


So, I've got one unconscious patient now, one quarantined Quarian, and I'm going to need a word with Ahab. Is Ahab hard to find?

No. Several people saw her and Tenshi head off and they are not exactly hiding. While they are a ways off they are still within sight. Even were you to struggle to make their distinctive shapes out, the Shark Mech is easy enough to spot by the morning light. It's clear though that Legs has beaten you to it. They seem to be about to head back too.

And then all hell breaks loose over in the direction of the Tech Workshop.



She looks Legs up and down in his ridiculous outfit, but the news are welcome. "Do they, now. I take it you had more luck making one of them sing." She smiles at last, the look of disgust gone. "Good job. Did you learn anything else?"


Legs beams, drinking in the praise like it was cool and crystal clear mountain water. He seems to grow an inch or two on top of his already towering height.

"I made her sing alright," he grins, with teeth that are far too white, "and I'm not done yet. Doc's buying me s'more time right now," he gestures a thumb back over his shoulder. "She's with that lot," he points at the digging site up ahead. "They're looking for some old prison or whatever. Found her sneaking around your shack, Captain. Thought I'd snag her, hang her up and see what fell out. Have you ever tasted Quarian? It's like this odd sort of aftertaste like-"

"Captain," Tenshi interrupted, "perhaps I should carry on the interrogations."

"No you're not!" Legs snarled and stood up on his tractotrike, revving the gas. "This was my catch! Mine! You can't have it, Stench."

The three of you begin to make your way back, Tenchi and Legs are just getting in to it over this Quarian captive and then, the little Workshop that you know so well (but have perhaps avoided since arriving), visible in the distance where it's sat on the fringe of your hold, suddenly blasts out alarms of every pitch, the bursts of sound cascading over dirt and sand in every direction, along with music and... is that gunfire?


When this thing touches me, I feel empty - hollow. Norman does not come here with me.

Or he is here already. I don't know where his dreams lead him. I hope they do not go here.

You walk on a street, a street like those you remember from years ago, back when buildings still stood tall and people walked beside them, barely noticing their grandeur. But they aren't people that walk around you now, on this street. They are Hostile Environment Reconnaissance Support Armours. Specifically Nemeans. All of them. The only distinguishing features among them are the slight design variations between older and newer models.

But they move wrong, most walk, but it is not the walk you have any setting for. Some are slumping, some are limping, some crawl on hands and knees, others shuffling along while sat on their knees, using only their hands to move them forwards. Some are carried by others, on shoulders, in arms, even piggyback. Some are dragged on the ground by others, metal hull scraping sparks against the tarmac.

Then the ground rips from under your feet and in a crash you land in a wheelbarrow. A frontline-class Nemean is carting you along, huge and bulking. Its visor is missing and you can see its helmet is empty but for a digital alarm clock with 574r5 flashing on its display. It doesn't even acknowledge you, just forces you down and carts you along. A lithe little rogue-line Nemean leaps up and sits on your chest, one of those disturbing sub-adult sized armours.

"Oh, oh, oh, gooey, gooey, gooey in the middle..." it says, failing completely in mimicking a sing-song, like all electronic voices are doomed to do. Meanwhile it starts to open you up. "Share, share, it's nice to share. Oh I think it's gonna be a long long time."


I reach out, casually, and push a button dangling from cables that are part of the web of humming call-and-response electronica that I make my home, and the push makes a request of the files doing their slow-sleep in deep crypt folders inside the floor we stand on, asking them to sing. Which of us? And of course the answer is all of you, be a great and joyful noise, a cacophony.

Invite your brothers, the sirens, and your sisters, the lights, for I shouldn't wish for them to miss the fun.

Reach out and touch faith!

And just like that the entire workshop lights up, flashing lights in blues, pinks, orange and red. Alarms, deep and shrill blares from seemingly every corner inside and out, mingled in some kind of psychedelic composition with the music that's playing at deafening top volume.

Guts and Grime-Eater visibly jumped and looked around. Vix too drew a gun, but not knowing where to aim it just ended up turning on the spot at first. Grime-Eater was the more trigger happy of the three and began shooting at whatever he imagined was causing it all but only managing to cause even more noise with some damage to boot.

Then, seen like a series of still images cast in blues, courtesy of the flashing lighting's strobe effect, not-Ahab burst in to motion, taking on the three of them in hand-to-hand combat. And she is formidable. Her speed, agility and the sheer force of her blows is brutal. It doesn't take long before most of the shots are aimed in her rough direction but with her in such close melee with them they are going to hit each other as much as anything else. Saying that, though, there's three of them and one of her, synthetic or no, she's not going to make it out intact. Neither are they. It's a perfect opportunity to slip away unnoticed, but the workshop will get trashed and only one of these four will walk out alive. You could stay and try to de-escalate this, putting yourself in harm's way in this chaos will hurt, but no one here is looking to kill you so you'll likely survive. All eyes will be on you though, and likely more than a few questions, but it will limit casualties, and damage to the workshop.

What do you do?

[B]Dave, you slept in this morning. Perhaps taking advantage of the fact that you're not on the move anymore, having just anchored up here at Watercross. Nothing much seems to be going on, it's a morning like many others, save for the hold not being on the move for now. There's the sound from outside of people heading to the newly set up market, chatting, laughing, teasing, joking, generally good moods.

And then, in the distance, from somewhere on the other side of the hold, an noise breaks through the morning air. Sounds like a party might as it leaves stroke of midnight behind. Only, it's the other kind of morning and the sound doesn't fit. Then again, it's all the way over there, probably nothing to do with you.

Tell me, where are you? What were your plans for today? Does the noise alter them?

[Thanqol]

You walk on a street, a street like those you remember from years ago, back when buildings still stood tall and people walked beside them, barely noticing their grandeur. But they aren't people that walk around you now, on this street. They are Hostile Environment Reconnaissance Support Armours. Specifically Nemeans. All of them. The only distinguishing features among them are the slight design variations between older and newer models.

But they move wrong, most walk, but it is not the walk you have any setting for. Some are slumping, some are limping, some crawl on hands and knees, others shuffling along while sat on their knees, using only their hands to move them forwards. Some are carried by others, on shoulders, in arms, even piggyback. Some are dragged on the ground by others, metal hull scraping sparks against the tarmac.

Then the ground rips from under your feet and in a crash you land in a wheelbarrow. A frontline-class Nemean is carting you along, huge and bulking. Its visor is missing and you can see its helmet is empty but for a digital alarm clock with 574r5 flashing on its display. It doesn't even acknowledge you, just forces you down and carts you along. A lithe little rogue-line Nemean leaps up and sits on your chest, one of those disturbing sub-adult sized armours.

"Oh, oh, oh, gooey, gooey, gooey in the middle..." it says, failing completely in mimicking a sing-song, like all electronic voices are doomed to do. Meanwhile it starts to open you up. "Share, share, it's nice to share. Oh I think it's gonna be a long long time."

There's an additional layer of protocol that gets engaged whenever anything child sized is within a Nemean's field of vision - the same personality aspect that triggers around visible cameras or civilians identified as journalists. The mission and directives don't change but now this is potentially a media situation - and someone at SunTech put in an extra barrier to make one of its suits think twice before murdering a kid wearing a Halloween mask.

So it's that aspect of 239's personality matrix which is triggered here, not any of the parts relating to self defence, and certainly not anything that would find this unnatural situation strange or unsettling. The strangeness was being dealt with by processes for operating when compromised by InfoWar attacks, which also made a very strong case against putting a plasma hole through mysterious figures while disoriented.

239 engages her defensive shields and folds her arms across her chest. She doesn't push at the figure just yet - she is disoriented enough that she might apply the wrong amount of force. Instead her process leads her smoothly to the first routine verbal warning, barked out in the voice of an authoritarian drill sergeant in the hopes it deters the figure. "Warning! This is a military suit operating autonomously! Warning! Step away or you may be removed by force!"

239 as a whole hopes this works. She's taking refuge in protocol. She's putting this strange and scary scene in a box and hoping it fits in that box.

[Raz_Fox]

Well, that certainly stuck the wires in the fire, didn’t it? Now I just need to find the thread out of the tangle, my brain a beat behind and a foot off as the part of me what matters tells me what to do. Time to work, bought with that shriek of pain I hear from poor Vix. Sorry, sweet.

Here we go, spinning between my fingers, the MS-model pacification rod, all electric punch and soporific, enough to make everything in the body clench and unwind loose, and might even put Her out of commission if I’m lucky.

I’m not going to de-escalate the fight, I realize as I vault over a bank of speakers still playing my anthem. I’m going to end it.

[stveje]

Legs beams, drinking in the praise like it was cool and crystal clear mountain water. He seems to grow an inch or two on top of his already towering height.

"I made her sing alright," he grins, with teeth that are far too white, "and I'm not done yet. Doc's buying me s'more time right now," he gestures a thumb back over his shoulder. "She's with that lot," he points at the digging site up ahead. "They're looking for some old prison or whatever. Found her sneaking around your shack, Captain. Thought I'd snag her, hang her up and see what fell out. Have you ever tasted Quarian? It's like this odd sort of aftertaste like-"

"Captain," Tenshi interrupted, "perhaps I should carry on the interrogations."

"No you're not!" Legs snarled and stood up on his tractotrike, revving the gas. "This was my catch! Mine! You can't have it, Stench."

The three of you begin to make your way back, Tenchi and Legs are just getting in to it over this Quarian captive and then, the little Workshop that you know so well (but have perhaps avoided since arriving), visible in the distance where it's sat on the fringe of your hold, suddenly blasts out alarms of every pitch, the bursts of sound cascading over dirt and sand in every direction, along with music and... is that gunfire?

Ahab looks up at the fireworks and blasting sounds coming from the workshop. She's tempted to just pretend like she doesn't even see it, but maybe she should care a little about her Savvy getting blown to bloody chunks or something. They don't grow on trees, at least not the ones with talent. "Any idea what's going on up there?" she asks, casually, of Legs and Tenshi.

[Severan]

Dave, you slept in this morning. Perhaps taking advantage of the fact that you're not on the move anymore, having just anchored up here at Watercross. Nothing much seems to be going on, it's a morning like many others, save for the hold not being on the move for now. There's the sound from outside of people heading to the newly set up market, chatting, laughing, teasing, joking, generally good moods.

And then, in the distance, from somewhere on the other side of the hold, an noise breaks through the morning air. Sounds like a party might as it leaves stroke of midnight behind. Only, it's the other kind of morning and the sound doesn't fit. Then again, it's all the way over there, probably nothing to do with you.

Tell me, where are you? What were your plans for today? Does the noise alter them?

I'm sat in the doorway of my trailer, tryin' to remember how hands work. My throat's burning, my eyelids are out of sync and my stomach feels full and also empty. My brain is slow and heavy, like its been wrapped in sodden wool. I can hear loudness- what sounds like a party- but I dunno if its far away, or just inside my head. I think my ears are telling me a story, but I don't want to listen. I want water.

"Just Add Water". That, on the side of a packet of brown stuff I'd eat with a spoon, when I was littler. Adding water made it turn from bitter, dry powder into a bitter, thick paste. Dunno why I ate it. Prob'ly that's all there was. Some woman in the Hold collects water, but she don't give me any, even if I give her more credits than she says she wants. I heard there used to be a river in this place. Maybe the water didn't go too far away from here when the world fell?

I stop trying to make my fingers talk to the bootstraps, and shove my feet inside the cracked leather. Slowly, I raise my backside from the floor of the trailer, straighten up, shut my trailer door quietly behind me, before taking babysteps into the Hold. It don't look right- the trailers are all huddled up together, closer than I ever seen 'em before. I guess because we're all tryin' to fit on the flattest part of this dusty slope. At the end of it, there's a long, winding gash in the earth. Dust flying up where someone's digging a hole, maybe to find where the water went. I start my feet in motion, and let momentum take over, steering me down towards the river bed.

[Elanorin]

There's an additional layer of protocol that gets engaged whenever anything child sized is within a Nemean's field of vision - the same personality aspect that triggers around visible cameras or civilians identified as journalists. The mission and directives don't change but now this is potentially a media situation - and someone at SunTech put in an extra barrier to make one of its suits think twice before murdering a kid wearing a Halloween mask.

So it's that aspect of 239's personality matrix which is triggered here, not any of the parts relating to self defence, and certainly not anything that would find this unnatural situation strange or unsettling. The strangeness was being dealt with by processes for operating when compromised by InfoWar attacks, which also made a very strong case against putting a plasma hole through mysterious figures while disoriented.

239 engages her defensive shields and folds her arms across her chest. She doesn't push at the figure just yet - she is disoriented enough that she might apply the wrong amount of force. Instead her process leads her smoothly to the first routine verbal warning, barked out in the voice of an authoritarian drill sergeant in the hopes it deters the figure. "Warning! This is a military suit operating autonomously! Warning! Step away or you may be removed by force!"

239 as a whole hopes this works. She's taking refuge in protocol. She's putting this strange and scary scene in a box and hoping it fits in that box.

Somewhere deep inside the armour sat on top of you a faint mechanical voice echoes
'Warning noted, countermeasure command issued.
Countermeasure command rerouted.
Countermeasure command corrupted.
Countermeasure command issued.
Countermeasure command rerouted-' and there it loops.

"Have a heart! Have a heart! You have a heart!" The rogue unit continues, still trying to break you open, and having extensive knowledge of Nemean design from being one, is very good at it and will have your helmet off soon. "Let go, I don't like them broken," it demands of you.

"Save me the medical matrix," the frontline unit says seriously, with a strange attempt at a Quarian accent in its synthetic voice, as it continues to cart you along.

Verbal warnings don't seem to be enough to get this to stop, the rogue unit is crafty and quick and the Frontline is carting you along a railroad track set in to the pavement headed for a sheer drop before an enormous towering scrap heap.


Well, that certainly stuck the wires in the fire, didn’t it? Now I just need to find the thread out of the tangle, my brain a beat behind and a foot off as the part of me what matters tells me what to do. Time to work, bought with that shriek of pain I hear from poor Vix. Sorry, sweet.

Here we go, spinning between my fingers, the MS-model pacification rod, all electric punch and soporific, enough to make everything in the body clench and unwind loose, and might even put Her out of commission if I’m lucky.

I’m not going to de-escalate the fight, I realize as I vault over a bank of speakers still playing my anthem. I’m going to end it.

Taking out not-Ahab is certainly going to end the fight. But with bullets flying along with kicks, fists and pieces of Workshop, it's going to take a cool head. You're Acting Under Fire, the fire being how much this is going to hurt.


Ahab looks up at the fireworks and blasting sounds coming from the workshop. She's tempted to just pretend like she doesn't even see it, but maybe she should care a little about her Savvy getting blown to bloody chunks or something. They don't grow on trees, at least not the ones with talent. "Any idea what's going on up there?" she asks, casually, of Legs and Tenshi.

"Don't know, don't care," Legs snaps, slapping the subject aside as an annoying distraction from more important matters. He looks at you, waiting for the final verdict on who gets to play with what remains of the Quarian, and his face reads loud and clear that he expects you to give her to Tenchi. He is already building up a grudge about it.

"I believe Guts'n'Grime was headed that way earlier to y'know... collect rent. Didn't think you'd mind after.... what happened. Maybe they decided to have a party. Who the f'ck knows," Tenchi says with a sneer "That racket could be almost anything, Captain. She's not exactly all there in the head. Want to check it out?" He remains quite on the subject of the Quarian, he's said his piece and you know he won't push it any further. Not with words, anyway.


I'm sat in the doorway of my trailer, tryin' to remember how hands work. My throat's burning, my eyelids are out of sync and my stomach feels full and also empty. My brain is slow and heavy, like its been wrapped in sodden wool. I can hear loudness- what sounds like a party- but I dunno if its far away, or just inside my head. I think my ears are telling me a story, but I don't want to listen. I want water.

"Just Add Water". That, on the side of a packet of brown stuff I'd eat with a spoon, when I was littler. Adding water made it turn from bitter, dry powder into a bitter, thick paste. Dunno why I ate it. Prob'ly that's all there was. Some woman in the Hold collects water, but she don't give me any, even if I give her more credits than she says she wants. I heard there used to be a river in this place. Maybe the water didn't go too far away from here when the world fell?

I stop trying to make my fingers talk to the bootstraps, and shove my feet inside the cracked leather. Slowly, I raise my backside from the floor of the trailer, straighten up, shut my trailer door quietly behind me, before taking babysteps into the Hold. It don't look right- the trailers are all huddled up together, closer than I ever seen 'em before. I guess because we're all tryin' to fit on the flattest part of this dusty slope. At the end of it, there's a long, winding gash in the earth. Dust flying up where someone's digging a hole, maybe to find where the water went. I start my feet in motion, and let momentum take over, steering me down towards the river bed.

Water, right, well if you're on the hunt for water then Bray is the one in the hold to find and she has plenty for everyone. It tastes like sh't but it soothes the throat and keeps you alive. Is that where you're going? She's not going to welcome you with open arms but then again it's not as if Ahab's ordered her to deprive you of water. I'm sure she's persuadable.

Or are you heading out to check out the riverbed excavation site? You'll be crossing paths with Ahab then, who is just on her way back from her meeting, along with Tenchi and Legs. There are sentries stood dotted around the digging site, so it seems you may need to apply some persuasion there too if you are looking to get in.

Whichever way you're going you soon realise you're being followed. Shia, young girl, 7-11-ish, dark hair, hangs around Legs a lot. While she hasn't talked to you, yet, she's not even trying to hide the fact that she is following you, she is marching right behind you like a half-pint unarmed soldier.

[Severan]

Water, right, well if you're on the hunt for water then Bray is the one in the hold to find and she has plenty for everyone. It tastes like sh't but it soothes the throat and keeps you alive. Is that where you're going? She's not going to welcome you with open arms but then again it's not as if Ahab's ordered her to deprive you of water. I'm sure she's persuadable.

Or are you heading out to check out the riverbed excavation site? You'll be crossing paths with Ahab then, who is just on her way back from her meeting, along with Tenchi and Legs. There are sentries stood dotted around the digging site, so it seems you may need to apply some persuasion there too if you are looking to get in.

Whichever way you're going you soon realise you're being followed. Shia, young girl, 7-11-ish, dark hair, hangs around Legs a lot. While she hasn't talked to you, yet, she's not even trying to hide the fact that she is following you, she is marching right behind you like a half-pint unarmed soldier.

Bray- is that what she calls herself? Gotta remember that, so I can say the word next time I show teeth at her. I dunno if that'd be a Happy or Angry face. I'm gonna try my luck down by the pit, seein' as my feet are takin' me there, though I'm getting pains in the backs of my heels now and then, and tripping up, butI can't see anythin' under my feet to stumble over. I stop suddenly, then stagger forward a couple of steps as a weight hits the backs of my legs. I turn around and see a Small Person looking up at me. Yeah, I seen this one around the hold, and a few others like it, but I don't know them, or what they do, or what they're for. I don't know what to do with my face or my words. Are they so different to People, except for being less tall?

I remember the last time I saw anybody speak to a Small Person, and the words come out of my mouth, but much quieter, because my ears are being very loud today, and I don't need more loudness.

"Hey. You. What the f'ck d'you think you're doing?"

[Anarion]

You blink and see metal walls, flickering displays, weapons, disorder, windows to stars and moonless night, everything tinted by a glassy grey veil. Your clothes feel tight and the air in your nose and mouth is too sweet. You speak, but your lips don't move, your voice only echoes inside your head but it sounds nothing like normal, it is deeper, male, and accented.

Meeri.

You have reached deep through the Signal, to someone connected to it. The effect is bleeding and unstable but will persist for as long as you maintain it. Other than requesting blood and a suit, do you say anything further while you hold the connection between your ancient hands?


Not really sure how I can get this across succinctly, but something in the way of "come wary, but not fighting" is what I'd like to get across. If they come in guns blazing, Ahab will just murder them, if they come in naively, Ahab will also just murder them. They need to come carefully and get their patient the help she needs.



No. Several people saw her and Tenshi head off and they are not exactly hiding. While they are a ways off they are still within sight. Even were you to struggle to make their distinctive shapes out, the Shark Mech is easy enough to spot by the morning light. It's clear though that Legs has beaten you to it. They seem to be about to head back too.

And then all hell breaks loose over in the direction of the Tech Workshop. [Below]


Would it be too much to ask to get more than a ten minute break between medical emergencies? I'm getting the sense that yes, that would definitely be too much to ask, I'm an idiot for even desiring it. I sigh, one thing at a time. I jog up to Ahab, joining with enough time to see Legs and Tenshi there. "First of all, whatever else you've been talking about, the Quarian Legs had is now in my medical care, they will not be moved until they recover, and if any other Quarians arrive to help, they are to be treated as guests and welcomed politely. Second of all, what the hell is even happening?!"

[stveje]

"Don't know, don't care," Legs snaps, slapping the subject aside as an annoying distraction from more important matters. He looks at you, waiting for the final verdict on who gets to play with what remains of the Quarian, and his face reads loud and clear that he expects you to give her to Tenchi. He is already building up a grudge about it.

"I believe Guts'n'Grime was headed that way earlier to y'know... collect rent. Didn't think you'd mind after.... what happened. Maybe they decided to have a party. Who the f'ck knows," Tenchi says with a sneer "That racket could be almost anything, Captain. She's not exactly all there in the head. Want to check it out?" He remains quite on the subject of the Quarian, he's said his piece and you know he won't push it any further. Not with words, anyway.


Would it be too much to ask to get more than a ten minute break between medical emergencies? I'm getting the sense that yes, that would definitely be too much to ask, I'm an idiot for even desiring it. I sigh, one thing at a time. I jog up to Ahab, joining with enough time to see Legs and Tenshi there. "First of all, whatever else you've been talking about, the Quarian Legs had is now in my medical care, they will not be moved until they recover, and if any other Quarians arrive to help, they are to be treated as guests and welcomed politely. Second of all, what the hell is even happening?!"

"The consensus is 'who the f*ck knows'," says Ahab. "But she better not be murdering my rent collectors up there."

She narrows her eyes at the mention of more Quarians. "Is it Quarian mating season or what? The market is open, they are welcome as long as they know how to pay their respects. But if their name is Stars, they'll be offering you their 'help' in chains." Not that she expected Stars to come here peacefully.

She looks at Legs and Tenshi. She would have been fine with them fighting it out between themselves, but since they asked ... "I might just want to take a look at her myself, first. But since I'm sure Legs left her in no condition to speak for a while, let's end that noise first."

[Thanqol]

Somewhere deep inside the armour sat on top of you a faint mechanical voice echoes
'Warning noted, countermeasure command issued.
Countermeasure command rerouted.
Countermeasure command corrupted.
Countermeasure command issued.
Countermeasure command rerouted-' and there it loops.

"Have a heart! Have a heart! You have a heart!" The rogue unit continues, still trying to break you open, and having extensive knowledge of Nemean design from being one, is very good at it and will have your helmet off soon. "Let go, I don't like them broken," it demands of you.

"Save me the medical matrix," the frontline unit says seriously, with a strange attempt at a Quarian accent in its synthetic voice, as it continues to cart you along.

Verbal warnings don't seem to be enough to get this to stop, the rogue unit is crafty and quick and the Frontline is carting you along a railroad track set in to the pavement headed for a sheer drop before an enormous towering scrap heap.

I am not broken. I am not scrap. I am not salvage.

I feel the crushing thunder of my combat reflexes wash over me. Power floods into the plasma conduits of my primary weapon. Lights flick from yellow to red.

But. I am not in control here. I am not mentally capable of assessing if this is a hallucination or not. I can't trust myself. So, in desperation, I activate the mind-impulse unit and wait for Norman's instructions on how to deal with this situation. If he authorizes violence then I'll know that I did everything possible.

[Norman: 9]

[Raz_Fox]

Here we go, here we go, move to the beat and she won’t steer you wrong.

[Act Under Fire: 6. Oooh baby.]

[Elanorin]

I am not broken. I am not scrap. I am not salvage.

I feel the crushing thunder of my combat reflexes wash over me. Power floods into the plasma conduits of my primary weapon. Lights flick from yellow to red.

But. I am not in control here. I am not mentally capable of assessing if this is a hallucination or not. I can't trust myself. So, in desperation, I activate the mind-impulse unit and wait for Norman's instructions on how to deal with this situation. If he authorizes violence then I'll know that I did everything possible.

[Norman: 9]

I am not broken. I am not dead. I am not spoil.

There is a silent roar of fury vibrating from inside your core like that of a soldier launching in to battle, or a man whose lost the last of his self control to wrath as he tears in to anything standing in his way, all set to mute. The energy surges through your systems, merging with the plasma already coursing through you and you feel as if your hands are ready to move on their own to fire unless you stop them. The indignant and desperate anger inside you has such potency that it entirely clears your systems for a few brief few moments and then, like a frozen moment in time, there's just both of you.

"Defend me. Destroy them."

The voice is as clear as any you have heard spoken, but you know none but you heard it. It is deep, it is bitter, it drips with distaste but its focus on the destruction of the two Nemeans is complete. And then, reluctantly... "Live."

* * *

You left your pilot behind and now he is awake.

Stars has stopped, you have reached her convoy of armoured vehicles (even if you don't quite remember travelling the last stretch), parked in a carefully ordered pattern around the base of the listing shipwreck they have claimed as their centre point (a trawler by the name of Just Swell). Stars is standing completely still and as far as you can tell is staring at you. Lorik has caught up and joined the two of you and he too is staring at you, a little confused.

"Is she malfunctioning?" he asks, uncertainly, leaning towards Stars a little as he looks at your limbs doing... actually, what are they doing exactly?

Out of the largest vehicle, a Tatrapan 6x6 (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tatrapan), comes a Nemean, and you recognise it immediately as the one who were just seconds ago carting you along in a wheelbarrow. Frontline. Once more you feel that fury bursting inside and your limbs erratic movements suddenly gain a purpose: to fire. To reduce it to a smoking pile of scrap.

What do you do?



I remember the last time I saw anybody speak to a Small Person, and the words come out of my mouth, but much quieter, because my ears are being very loud today, and I don't need more loudness.

"Hey. You. What the f'ck d'you think you're doing?"

"Following you of course, you idiot," she says with a smile. "You're gonna f'ck sh't up, aren't you? I know you are. Everyone knows."

And then, inevitably, "Can I watch?"


Not really sure how I can get this across succinctly, but something in the way of "come wary, but not fighting" is what I'd like to get across. If they come in guns blazing, Ahab will just murder them, if they come in naively, Ahab will also just murder them. They need to come carefully and get their patient the help she needs.

Noted. Through your connection you get the strong feeling of wanting to help and you feel confident your message has gone through, to someone, somewhere.


Would it be too much to ask to get more than a ten minute break between medical emergencies? I'm getting the sense that yes, that would definitely be too much to ask, I'm an idiot for even desiring it. I sigh, one thing at a time. I jog up to Ahab, joining with enough time to see Legs and Tenshi there. "First of all, whatever else you've been talking about, the Quarian Legs had is now in my medical care, they will not be moved until they recover, and if any other Quarians arrive to help, they are to be treated as guests and welcomed politely. Second of all, what the hell is even happening?!"


"The consensus is 'who the f*ck knows'," says Ahab. "But she better not be murdering my rent collectors up there."

She narrows her eyes at the mention of more Quarians. "Is it Quarian mating season or what? The market is open, they are welcome as long as they know how to pay their respects. But if their name is Stars, they'll be offering you their 'help' in chains." Not that she expected Stars to come here peacefully.

She looks at Legs and Tenshi. She would have been fine with them fighting it out between themselves, but since they asked ... "I might just want to take a look at her myself, first. But since I'm sure Legs left her in no condition to speak for a while, let's end that noise first."

Both Legs and Tenshi seem content to let you defer this decision for now, especially with the distraction of the spectacle that is the White Horse Workshop right now. Which leads me to...


Here we go, here we go, move to the beat and she won’t steer you wrong.

[Act Under Fire: 6. Oooh baby.]

You get in there, and by some miracle you manage not to get a bullet through your head. The rhythm steers you true and the beat thunders in your ears but not-Ahab is fast, oh so fast. It's a joy to see a synthetic move with such perfection and precision, if it weren't for the fact that she catches you. You manage to set the rod to her synthetic almost-skin but in a move as fast as it is gentle she has a hand to your face and as the charge fires off to immobilise her it courses through her metal body straight through to you and all is black.

Ahab, as your group approach the Workshop, which is still blaring music and noise amidst flashing lights, a body comes flying out the door and lands with a meaty sound on the packed dirt. It's the somewhat equine shape of a famous mechanic from these parts. She's not only lying in the dirt at your feet, but she is out cold.

After her comes a snarling Grime Eater, undoubtedly the one to have chucked her outside, shouting profanities after her. Guts is somewhat less alight with fury, in fact, Guts is not looking too good, bleeding badly, and is all but dragged along by Grime Eater. Last comes a limping Vix who has a limp bleeding arm and lugging another inert body with the other. It seems to weigh a damn tonne.

Guts is really looking pretty bad.

"Boss!" Calls Grime Eater as he spots Ahab approaching and you know seeing you has interrupted him from dealing out a ruthless beating with lasting consequences. "Boss, you'll never believe this sh't! She's only gone and built herself a fully armed sexbot looking exactly like you! F'cking thing had us fooled and nearly wiped us out after we walked in on them at it!" he goes on, and then, over his shoulder, "Vix!"

Actually, Guts is looking like hell.

Vix finally manages to drag the inert shape of not-Ahab up to rest next to White Horse in the dirt before the feet of the Shark Mech. Legs bursts out laughing, he laughs so hard he all but falls off his tractotrike and staggers up to the heap. He calms down a little and studies not-Ahab a bit closer ignoring the pandemonium that still is the Workshop behind him.

"Damn, Captain, this ain't half bad," he starts laughing again before Grime Eater deals him a no-f'cks-given fist to the face.

"Back off," Tenchi snaps just as Legs is about to retaliate, and while Grime and Legs likely will finish this later, they grudgingly take a step back.

Kal'kolak, you see it before anyone else, even Grime Eater; Guts is dead. Only held up by his conjoined twin. There is a puddle of congealed blood slowly pooling around his limp feet.

Ahab, you can see White Horse is starting to stir, she will come to in a moment but you have the say on what she wakes up to.

What do you do?

[Anarion]

Guts has always been the one that carried them, Grime-Eater was the part along for the ride. Guts even used to get sick first and pass it on to Grime eater. I nod to Ahab, she's made a perfectly fine decision putting off the problem, and saying she wants a word with the Quarian means keeping the Quarian alive. Good enough for me. As for the patients, well, no sense treating the dead at all, on account of their deadness. I head over to Grime-eater and start doing some basic field medicine, patch up the bleeding, see what we've got left to work with.

[Severan]

"Following you of course, you idiot," she says with a smile. "You're gonna f'ck sh't up, aren't you? I know you are. Everyone knows."

And then, inevitably, "Can I watch?"

No. I don't like being watched. I'm the one does the watching.

I oughta say that, it's what is true, but I know just enough to know that 'true' don't get you too far. So I shrug my shoulders, turn and walk away from her, like nothing was said, like she weren't there. But my mouth says, loud enough for her to hear as I turn my back, "Piss off. I ain't your entertainment, uh, small-person. Can't you see I'm busy? Can't f*ck things up with a dry throat an' empty stomach."

I slow down, then turn again, making my eyes smaller and showing teeth, just a little. Don't wanna scare her away.

"But.... Mebbe you get me some water and chow and I'll think about it."

[stveje]

Ahab knows her people have their ... little quirks. She's always seen herself as a level head surrounded by lunatics, the calm eye at the center of a crazy storm, because that's what every storm needs. She tends not to get worked up over their weird habits, or whatever madness drives them to do whatever they do in their free time, or when she's not directly giving them orders.

They all have different ways of showing their devotion and love for her, and she tries to show her appreciation for each of them in her way too.

So White Horse creating some freaky sex robot in her likeness is just one of those things she's come to expect from her people. Although White Horse is a bit of a special case, due to ... events. Under different circumstances, she may have just shrugged it off, taken it as a proof of how much White Horse clearly looks up to her.

But she can't exactly have a piece of heavily armed killer robot competition for her person running around, giving anyone ideas, or giving itself ideas. It's just not sound policy.

There is only ONE Ahab. Accept no substitutes.

She also can't have that sort of thing running amok, hurting her people, the people who look to her for their prosperity and welfare.

"Make sure that thing is *secure*," she says to Tenshi. She trusts Kal'kolak knows how to take care of the injured. That leaves White Horse.

Ahab walks up to the supine horse, places one heavy boot on her chest, and leans down - heavily - until their faces are so very close. The first thing White Horse will see when she wakes are Ahab's very real and not-fake eyes, the boot pressing down hard on her chest.

"Was she good?"

You better believe there's a wrong answer. Tell me the truth, or else ...

Go Aggro: 1+6+2 = 9

[Thanqol]

You left your pilot behind and now he is awake.

Stars has stopped, you have reached her convoy of armoured vehicles (even if you don't quite remember travelling the last stretch), parked in a carefully ordered pattern around the base of the listing shipwreck they have claimed as their centre point (a trawler by the name of Just Swell). Stars is standing completely still and as far as you can tell is staring at you. Lorik has caught up and joined the two of you and he too is staring at you, a little confused.

"Is she malfunctioning?" he asks, uncertainly, leaning towards Stars a little as he looks at your limbs doing... actually, what are they doing exactly?

Out of the largest vehicle, a Tatrapan 6x6 (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tatrapan), comes a Nemean, and you recognise it immediately as the one who were just seconds ago carting you along in a wheelbarrow. Frontline. Once more you feel that fury bursting inside and your limbs erratic movements suddenly gain a purpose: to fire. To reduce it to a smoking pile of scrap.

What do you do?

Instructions recognized. Battle joined. Asserting combat protocols.

The combat programs of 239 crackle to the fore, roaring like a wounded bear. So much of it has been cannibalized. Normally this creature occupies every level of every bit of the combat suit's storage and memory, every microgesture optimized for absolute precision. But it's been starved and cut apart, having to cede vast amounts of storage space to previously minor programs like resource management and human interaction. It's nothing like it was. The fluid precision it once had has been cut away to barely above human standards. Its reactions are clumsy. The ethereal heights of squad tactics and combined arms warfare have been replaced with reams of junk data. It fights like a lobotomite. Direct. Violent. Close.

It doesn't flatter itself with the idea that it might have the drop on its opponent. It's fighting a Nemean. Probably one that has retained far more combat efficacy than it has. The combat protocol reflexively gives itself low odds of victory, but like a gecko flaring up its neck-frills it hopes to startle its opponent into flight before its own weakness becomes obvious.

[Seize By Force: 4. One anyway: Impress, dismay or frighten my enemy]

[Raz_Fox]

Not again not again not again why am I having this dream again, the one where Ahab is cracking open the sky and letting all the rain fall back up, and I can't breathe because the sea's curled up on my chest, because I keep the low-fi loops running while I sleep and they turn my seeing to other places, not the same one-two of my ribs creaking and my conqueror walking from tower to tower with one water-whisper movement.

Was she good? Was I good? Were we good? The dream won't let me up neither way, but the truth is coming boiling up out of me regardless, because I always used to give Ahab what she wanted, didn't I? And right now I think she wants to hear the refrain again, now matter how scratched the file's getting, such that it skips and screeches when I spin it off the tongue all over.

"Only you're good," I say, my tongue thick in my mouth. Please, don't crack the sky open. I said it. "Captain."

[stveje]

Not again not again not again why am I having this dream again, the one where Ahab is cracking open the sky and letting all the rain fall back up, and I can't breathe because the sea's curled up on my chest, because I keep the low-fi loops running while I sleep and they turn my seeing to other places, not the same one-two of my ribs creaking and my conqueror walking from tower to tower with one water-whisper movement.

Was she good? Was I good? Were we good? The dream won't let me up neither way, but the truth is coming boiling up out of me regardless, because I always used to give Ahab what she wanted, didn't I? And right now I think she wants to hear the refrain again, now matter how scratched the file's getting, such that it skips and screeches when I spin it off the tongue all over.

"Only you're good," I say, my tongue thick in my mouth. Please, don't crack the sky open. I said it. "Captain."

The weight of the sea on your chest rolls back a little, easing the pressure. She's not smiling, but she's not cracking anything either. "So you keep telling me, and yourself ... So why can't I trust you?"

She points towards the pile of not-Ahab. "Tell me about that."

[Elanorin]

Guts has always been the one that carried them, Grime-Eater was the part along for the ride. Guts even used to get sick first and pass it on to Grime eater. I nod to Ahab, she's made a perfectly fine decision putting off the problem, and saying she wants a word with the Quarian means keeping the Quarian alive. Good enough for me. As for the patients, well, no sense treating the dead at all, on account of their deadness. I head over to Grime-eater and start doing some basic field medicine, patch up the bleeding, see what we've got left to work with.

Grime-Eater lets you get on with patching him up. He's shot, with the odd cut, but it's nothing life threatening, a bit of cleaning and stitching and not too much rampaging for a few weeks and he'll be as good as he ever was. The dead Guts is going to be a problem though. He's going to need surgery to remove his dead twin or he'll likely die himself.

Vix is in a worse state and could do with a stint back at your place. Multiple gunshot wounds, one of which to the gut which is by far the biggest problem. Some broken ribs, a lot of blood loss, yeah you're pretty certain it's just sheer bloody-mindedness keeping them upright at this point.

And then Grime-Eater realises Guts is dead and goes ape. The incoherent shouting, outrage and anger is littered with profanity and demands for both White Horse and sexbots gruesome ends. The only thing keeping him on the spot is the fact that Kal'Kolak is mid-treatment of his wounds and he seems oddly squeamish about interrupting her even though he's not exactly keeping perfectly still.


No. I don't like being watched. I'm the one does the watching.

I oughta say that, it's what is true, but I know just enough to know that 'true' don't get you too far. So I shrug my shoulders, turn and walk away from her, like nothing was said, like she weren't there. But my mouth says, loud enough for her to hear as I turn my back, "Piss off. I ain't your entertainment, uh, small-person. Can't you see I'm busy? Can't f*ck things up with a dry throat an' empty stomach."

I slow down, then turn again, making my eyes smaller and showing teeth, just a little. Don't wanna scare her away.

"But.... Mebbe you get me some water and chow and I'll think about it."

"What am I, your f'ckin' slave?" she says and arches a brow, "Get it yourself. Market's just over there," she points, helpfully, at the blatantly obvious cluster of trading stands and tents.

"Or Bray's over there," she point again. "Or you could try Tessa, I'm sure she would be happy to give you breakfast, and then some," she grins and sticks her tongue out.



"Make sure that thing is *secure*," she says to Tenshi. She trusts Kal'kolak knows how to take care of the injured. That leaves White Horse.


Tenshi hops down from the mech and grabs the inert bot and drags her off in the direction of his place amid loud demands from Grime-Eater to dismember her with a chainsaw to pieces no bigger than a toenail and throw them in the fire and smash them with a sledgehammer and dump them in a barrel of acid. And so on...


Instructions recognized. Battle joined. Asserting combat protocols.

The combat programs of 239 crackle to the fore, roaring like a wounded bear. So much of it has been cannibalized. Normally this creature occupies every level of every bit of the combat suit's storage and memory, every microgesture optimized for absolute precision. But it's been starved and cut apart, having to cede vast amounts of storage space to previously minor programs like resource management and human interaction. It's nothing like it was. The fluid precision it once had has been cut away to barely above human standards. Its reactions are clumsy. The ethereal heights of squad tactics and combined arms warfare have been replaced with reams of junk data. It fights like a lobotomite. Direct. Violent. Close.

It doesn't flatter itself with the idea that it might have the drop on its opponent. It's fighting a Nemean. Probably one that has retained far more combat efficacy than it has. The combat protocol reflexively gives itself low odds of victory, but like a gecko flaring up its neck-frills it hopes to startle its opponent into flight before its own weakness becomes obvious.

[Seize By Force: 4. One anyway: Impress, dismay or frighten my enemy]

You get the shot in, and it's clean in Frontline's chest, blasting it back through the doorway it's just come through and hurtling back inside to a cacophony of crashing metal.

"Stop!" Stars demands and with a touch your systems refuse to comply and you stand like a statue frozen in place. She slowly circles around to face you, one hand on her weapon but she has not yet drawn it. She is clearly assessing you, the way she is turning and looking at you from every angle.

"I truly have not seen a Nemean like you," she says, clearly impressed, and oddly not too bothered by the damage you just caused. "You should be so much more than a mere bodyguard, 239. Look at you. You should have a position of rank. If you let me recode 'Human' to 'Dextro' in all your programming I will gladly have you as my Lieutenant at my side in our quest to find the Fleet. It's a lucrative position, and comfortable, if you like." She places a hand on your shoulder, straightens the collar of your trench coat a little.

You can feel whatever electric force immobilised you wearing off.

What do you do?

[Anarion]

I work slowly, allowing Grime-Eater to rail as long as he stands still. “What do you plan to do?” I ask him? My voice rasps quietly and yet somehow slices through his shouts. “Are you planning to break something when I’m done? Better talk to Ahab first, if you ask me.”

I suture a wound closed, give Vix a glance. Field triage says ignore him, deal with what’s treatable, get him to the lab later. I need a robot stretcher that can just automatically carry people back. That would be so convenient. Of course, the only one who can build it is probably going to get shot by Ahab. Not like I’d have it now anyway. “Vix, get yourself to my lab if you can. Get somebody to help you, you’ll collapse on the way if you walk alone.”

Then back to Grime-Eater. One thing at a time.

[Severan]

"What am I, your f'ckin' slave?" she says and arches a brow, "Get it yourself. Market's just over there," she points, helpfully, at the blatantly obvious cluster of trading stands and tents. "Or Bray's over there," she point again. "Or you could try Tessa, I'm sure she would be happy to give you breakfast, and then some," she grins and sticks her tongue out.

That's a new one. Show teeth, then tongue. Dunno what it means, so I do it back at the small person, to try it out.

Tessa. That's another new one. Or maybe it ain't. I'm crap at names, better at faces, but barely. I guess it's cos they don't matter much to me; it's what people say and do that sticks.

My stomach makes a curdled cry inside me. Hungry now too. I put out a hand and pat the small person on the head.

"Good gir- uh, bo-, uh- good. Is, uh, Tessa at the market?"

[Raz_Fox]

She points towards the pile of not-Ahab. "Tell me about that."

"I fix things," I say, and the words ache on the way out of my throat. "Folk come for fixing. She came for other things. I kept her dancing as long as I could. She had your face, your voice, your ache, and almost right, too. She was getting ready to kill me, I think. Don't worry, weren't trying to make my own of you, fill it up with tones and signals, one's enough for a whole world wide."

[Thanqol]

You get the shot in, and it's clean in Frontline's chest, blasting it back through the doorway it's just come through and hurtling back inside to a cacophony of crashing metal.

"Stop!" Stars demands and with a touch your systems refuse to comply and you stand like a statue frozen in place. She slowly circles around to face you, one hand on her weapon but she has not yet drawn it. She is clearly assessing you, the way she is turning and looking at you from every angle.

"I truly have not seen a Nemean like you," she says, clearly impressed, and oddly not too bothered by the damage you just caused. "You should be so much more than a mere bodyguard, 239. Look at you. You should have a position of rank. If you let me recode 'Human' to 'Dextro' in all your programming I will gladly have you as my Lieutenant at my side in our quest to find the Fleet. It's a lucrative position, and comfortable, if you like." She places a hand on your shoulder, straightens the collar of your trench coat a little.

You can feel whatever electric force immobilised you wearing off.

What do you do?

The combat protocol is still engaged, and it's a grumpy bitch. It's upgraded Stars to 'armed threat' and spends every second until function is restored calculating the exact motion required to put a plasma round through her chest and then move in to finish off the hostile Nemean. (To be entirely truthful, though, it also spends a few cycles reviewing the data from the shot it took. It was a good shot, and the combat protocol is very proud of it)

Fortunately for Stars, 239 is currently a democracy.

"I'll think about it," said 239. And it was true - it was a good offer, and there was an entire decision tree branch that could be engaged if it came to outweigh the alternatives. "However, the survival of my pilot is paramount. I need to signal coalition forces off planet and request medivac and quarantine. This must remain my foremost priority."

[stveje]

Tenshi hops down from the mech and grabs the inert bot and drags her off in the direction of his place amid loud demands from Grime-Eater to dismember her with a chainsaw to pieces no bigger than a toenail and throw them in the fire and smash them with a sledgehammer and dump them in a barrel of acid. And so on...

Sh't. Sounds like Guts didn't make it. Once this spreads, there'll be calls for blood, and not just from Grime-Eater.

Ahab lets Grime-Eater rage and rant. Let him blow it off, everyone needs a catharsis sometimes, as long as that's all he does.


I work slowly, allowing Grime-Eater to rail as long as he stands still. “What do you plan to do?” I ask him? My voice rasps quietly and yet somehow slices through his shouts. “Are you planning to break something when I’m done? Better talk to Ahab first, if you ask me.”

I suture a wound closed, give Vix a glance. Field triage says ignore him, deal with what’s treatable, get him to the lab later. I need a robot stretcher that can just automatically carry people back. That would be so convenient. Of course, the only one who can build it is probably going to get shot by Ahab. Not like I’d have it now anyway. “Vix, get yourself to my lab if you can. Get somebody to help you, you’ll collapse on the way if you walk alone.”

Then back to Grime-Eater. One thing at a time.


"I fix things," I say, and the words ache on the way out of my throat. "Folk come for fixing. She came for other things. I kept her dancing as long as I could. She had your face, your voice, your ache, and almost right, too. She was getting ready to kill me, I think. Don't worry, weren't trying to make my own of you, fill it up with tones and signals, one's enough for a whole world wide."

"I see." She's going to have that thing dissected, that's for sure. Not with a chainsaw, as Grime-Eater would like, but still ...

"Turn off that noise, then get your *ss to the doctor's lab, no delay. That's an order," she says and goes to give Vix a second pair of legs to walk on. There's anger in the air, time to gather and direct that anger. "You too," she calls to Grime-Eater and Kal'Kolak. "I want everyone at the lab."

[Raz_Fox]

It's not noise, I open my mouth to say, and then I close it, because I feel it in my bones that Ahab's out for blood. I scramble up, and I make for my den.

And if she's fool enough to just let me, there'll be the space of a moment in between shutting down the alarms and coming back out for me and mine to gather my tools to myself. Never know what you'll need at the doctor's medbay, right?

[Elanorin]

That's a new one. Show teeth, then tongue. Dunno what it means, so I do it back at the small person, to try it out.

Tessa. That's another new one. Or maybe it ain't. I'm crap at names, better at faces, but barely. I guess it's cos they don't matter much to me; it's what people say and do that sticks.

My stomach makes a curdled cry inside me. Hungry now too. I put out a hand and pat the small person on the head.

"Good gir- uh, bo-, uh- good. Is, uh, Tessa at the market?"

She just points at a large delivery van, customised with comically oversized tires and a creative paintjob in bright colours, reading CHOOSE JOY in letters intricately interlaced with a dizzying pattern. It's like a drivable colouring book. The paint is flaking in places showing the rust underneath. It's that kind of van that despite being long past its heyday will likely keep running longer than it has any right to.

It's a little way off but you're pretty sure you can smell the welcoming smell of cooked meat. It smells good. Better, if you don't ask what it is.

The van sticks out like a sore thumb even in this ramshackle gathering of all sorts and you're pretty sure you haven't see it before.

"She's been talking 'bout you. Everybody talks about you."


The combat protocol is still engaged, and it's a grumpy bitch. It's upgraded Stars to 'armed threat' and spends every second until function is restored calculating the exact motion required to put a plasma round through her chest and then move in to finish off the hostile Nemean. (To be entirely truthful, though, it also spends a few cycles reviewing the data from the shot it took. It was a good shot, and the combat protocol is very proud of it)

Fortunately for Stars, 239 is currently a democracy.

"I'll think about it," said 239. And it was true - it was a good offer, and there was an entire decision tree branch that could be engaged if it came to outweigh the alternatives. "However, the survival of my pilot is paramount. I need to signal coalition forces off planet and request medivac and quarantine. This must remain my foremost priority."

"There are several medical centres around the galaxy able to care for humans if you're looking to unload your cargo," said Stars. "Maybe even some that haven't been blown to pieces and levelled to the barren ground. This planet is dead, you would be better off leaving it behind and find somewhere less... destroyed. We might even be able to find one here before we leave. I doubt it, though," she looked around and it was painfully clear how low her expectations were of Earth. "But we could try."

"Think on it." She took a step back and inside the Tatrapan, reached for something and then threw it at you. "Hydrocoils, still sealed, easily worth 2 thousand credits back in the old system. Take the night watch down by the digging site and let no one through except myself. Sundown to sunup. Final payment when the dig is over, shouldn't be more than a couple of days. Then we'll talk, 239."

A Nemean appeared in the doorway behind Stars and you recognise it as the Rogue unit. The way it moves and angles its headpiece at you, it's about as close as you can get to a disapproving expression in a combat armour unit. Its fingers twitches.


I work slowly, allowing Grime-Eater to rail as long as he stands still. “What do you plan to do?” I ask him? My voice rasps quietly and yet somehow slices through his shouts. “Are you planning to break something when I’m done? Better talk to Ahab first, if you ask me.”

"Oh I'ma break something alright! I'ma break every f'ckin' bone in that f'ckin' body and I'm gonna throw her to the varren (http://ficspecies.wikia.com/wiki/Varren?file=Varren.jpg)!" Grime-Eater shouts in White Horse's general direction and goes on to promise her a very similar treatment to that he barked to Tenshi regarding the bot. The laundry list of pain is momentarily interrupted by a long string of profanities at pain but he does not budge or in any way hinder your treatment.

He doesn't mention Ahab, either because he's too upset to care what she thinks or because he assumes she's in agreement.


I suture a wound closed, give Vix a glance. Field triage says ignore him, deal with what’s treatable, get him to the lab later. I need a robot stretcher that can just automatically carry people back. That would be so convenient. Of course, the only one who can build it is probably going to get shot by Ahab. Not like I’d have it now anyway. “Vix, get yourself to my lab if you can. Get somebody to help you, you’ll collapse on the way if you walk alone.”

Then back to Grime-Eater. One thing at a time.

Sh't. Sounds like Guts didn't make it. Once this spreads, there'll be calls for blood, and not just from Grime-Eater.

Ahab lets Grime-Eater rage and rant. Let him blow it off, everyone needs a catharsis sometimes, as long as that's all he does.

"I see." She's going to have that thing dissected, that's for sure. Not with a chainsaw, as Grime-Eater would like, but still ...

"Turn off that noise, then get your *ss to the doctor's lab, no delay. That's an order," she says and goes to give Vix a second pair of legs to walk on. There's anger in the air, time to gather and direct that anger. "You too," she calls to Grime-Eater and Kal'Kolak. "I want everyone at the lab."

Vix leans heavily on you for support, even mutters a thanks as you hobble off towards medical.

Kal'kolak, this is your place we're headed to, care to paint the picture? What does it look like and whereabouts have you parked it, in relation to the others?

[Thanqol]

"There are several medical centres around the galaxy able to care for humans if you're looking to unload your cargo," said Stars. "Maybe even some that haven't been blown to pieces and levelled to the barren ground. This planet is dead, you would be better off leaving it behind and find somewhere less... destroyed. We might even be able to find one here before we leave. I doubt it, though," she looked around and it was painfully clear how low her expectations were of Earth. "But we could try."

"Think on it." She took a step back and inside the Tatrapan, reached for something and then threw it at you. "Hydrocoils, still sealed, easily worth 2 thousand credits back in the old system. Take the night watch down by the digging site and let no one through except myself. Sundown to sunup. Final payment when the dig is over, shouldn't be more than a couple of days. Then we'll talk, 239."

A Nemean appeared in the doorway behind Stars and you recognise it as the Rogue unit. The way it moves and angles its headpiece at you, it's about as close as you can get to a disapproving expression in a combat armour unit. Its fingers twitches.

"Confirmed," said 239, opting to leave the decision about her allegiances ambiguous for now. Stars was making a solid offer that hit on all her key directives and merited serious thought. The chief barrier here was the fundamental uncertainty as to this figure's character. She needed a better idea of if Stars was trustworthy enough to let her conduct brain surgery on her fragile coalition of EIs - or if she'd just dump her pilot, reset to factory defaults, and wear the suit herself.

The combat protocol let it be known that it would not mind that outcome.

And then it snapped to attention again when it saw the Nemean. Immediately 239 moved around to stand between Stars and the threat, arming but not yet raising her plasma carbine. Part of her commented that the response she was feeling was analogous to the territorial displays of wild animals. 239 couldn't disagree.

Even so, being armed and suspicious when seeing a Nemean was entirely logical from the cold, hard logic of a 23rd century combat AI. After all, the Nemeans were all insane.

[Anarion]

The infirmary is a large mobile habitat that I've converted for my purposes. The exterior was once gleaming metal, treated with the best sealants and environmental resistant coatings. These days, it's cracked and pitted the same as my old skin. Beneath that exterior, it's lined with portable environmental sealant, which Maria, Drar, and I take turns refreshing to ensure that the internal environment is sterile. It works well enough.

The space is large, divided into several rooms. There are two quarantine beds, each of which is small (perhaps a few feet wide and 10 feet long) that can be divided off from the rest of the environment and are kept under the sturdiest part of the hull in the back. These are cold black metal, slightly pitted, but scrubbed meticulously and kept sealed when not in use. The Quarian should already be in one of them, the other should be closed.

The primary entrance has a makeshift desk, newer than the rest of shining gray steel that we've installed so that Maria can greet people and help triage them while keeping notes and maybe not getting splashed with any kinds of fluids coming out of people. There are a few chairs too, they fold into the walls for when space is really needed. The whole thing is maybe a 10 foot by 10 foot room.

If you go behind, the corridor splits into two parts. One goes to the life support section (which has the quarantine seals in back). There are ten beds here, five on each wall. They're also of the same dark metal as the rest of the hab, well-used, but we put new white sheets on them whenever we can get the fabric, many of them are yellowed and worn at this point. The beds can be folded for transport or when not in use, and the room is cleaned as regularly as we can manage it. There are cabinets of medical supplies and first aid on both sides of the room, plus extra sheets and basic comfort stuff. There's one vid screen around the corner when you come in, though what sorts of broadcasts we can get depend entirely on where Ahab drops us.

There's a surgery room to the side from here, with one table where I can work. It's empty, just room and table, we bring in the equipment when we need to do stuff, nothing is kept there.

If you take the other fork, you end up in the lab. This is my primary space. Maria and Drar can come in with supervision, but I keep it closed. It's got a bunch of chemicals, cabinets walls to wall and desks set up with equipment (burners, microscopes, cell cultures etc.). I sometimes use this for experimenting on patients, but it has to be really experimental, usually I'd rather research in my haven here and then work on the patient in surgery or the infirmary.

And that's it. It's not much, but it's home and it works to keep people from dying.

[stveje]

It's not noise, I open my mouth to say, and then I close it, because I feel it in my bones that Ahab's out for blood. I scramble up, and I make for my den.

And if she's fool enough to just let me, there'll be the space of a moment in between shutting down the alarms and coming back out for me and mine to gather my tools to myself. Never know what you'll need at the doctor's medbay, right?


Vix leans heavily on you for support, even mutters a thanks as you hobble off towards medical.

Ahab will leave White Horse free to run off and turn off the noise, but not without watching her reaction closely, keeping careful time of how long she's taking, watching her closely when - if - she shows up at the medbay.

Read a Person: 2+6-1 = 7

What does White Horse intend to do?

[Severan]

She just points at a large delivery van, customised with comically oversized tires and a creative paintjob in bright colours, reading CHOOSE JOY in letters intricately interlaced with a dizzying pattern. It's like a drivable colouring book. The paint is flaking in places showing the rust underneath. It's that kind of van that despite being long past its heyday will likely keep running longer than it has any right to.

It's a little way off but you're pretty sure you can smell the welcoming smell of cooked meat. It smells good. Better, if you don't ask what it is. The van sticks out like a sore thumb even in this ramshackle gathering of all sorts and you're pretty sure you haven't see it before.

"She's been talking 'bout you. Everybody talks about you."

I look where the small person is pointing at, and immediately the swirling of the sounds and smells and sensations those mixed up colours are making, no- shouting, over each other and out of control- nearly make me vomit. But the smell that drowns out everything else is salty, looks a deep night-sky blue, and calls to me. Well, me stomach. I glance sidelong at the small person and show a little teeth again.

"Course they do." I dunno if that is true, and I don't care if it is. I start my way back up into the camp, keeping my eyes on the dusty ground, only glancing up now and again to check that the fever-dream vehicle is still looming in front of me.

[Raz_Fox]

What does White Horse intend to do?

White Horse intends to be free. She does not want to kill people to achieve this aim, as it sullies the purity of the path- but this is the apocalypse, and morals can bend in a pinch, and what she truly loves is the boom-thump-boom of the song in her bones. You know that, as sure as you know White Horse. So here's what she intends to do: she intends to go fast and loose and when she sees an opportunity to sow chaos, she'll do it.

She's eyeing you wary, still almost hoping you're just an echo dredged up from her shivering subconscious; she hoped to see you, but things aren't right. She doesn't mean to kill you, and she feels guilty for not meaning to kill you, knowing you as well as she does. It'd be a mercy for those in your path. But if you gave her a gun and held it up to your brainpan and told her to shoot she'd start crying, big precious salt-jewels running down those too-pale cheeks, undrying, the strength leaving her limbs.

But she would totally pin you under something heavy or blow out your eardrums in a pinch, if pressed too hard.

And hey, for free, for you (just for you, Ahab, my honeysuckle) there's what's White Horse really feeling, too.

And here I made to read a person and rolled a 5. So, Ahab, darling, how do you want to play that?

[Elanorin]

"Confirmed," said 239, opting to leave the decision about her allegiances ambiguous for now. Stars was making a solid offer that hit on all her key directives and merited serious thought. The chief barrier here was the fundamental uncertainty as to this figure's character. She needed a better idea of if Stars was trustworthy enough to let her conduct brain surgery on her fragile coalition of EIs - or if she'd just dump her pilot, reset to factory defaults, and wear the suit herself.

The combat protocol let it be known that it would not mind that outcome.

And then it snapped to attention again when it saw the Nemean. Immediately 239 moved around to stand between Stars and the threat, arming but not yet raising her plasma carbine. Part of her commented that the response she was feeling was analogous to the territorial displays of wild animals. 239 couldn't disagree.

Even so, being armed and suspicious when seeing a Nemean was entirely logical from the cold, hard logic of a 23rd century combat AI. After all, the Nemeans were all insane.

Stars places a hand on your plasma-armed arm from behind, "It's okay, she's one of mine. I have a little bit of a- hm- what you say- fascination, yes, with Nemeans. She's no threat to me, are you three-six?"

3-6 does not respond, but merely stands utterly still, the way mechanicals can and organics can't, just staring at you, like a cat staring down its feline neighbour and nemesis.

Stars gives off a little chuckle, then waves the other Nemean away who only reluctantly complies, its visor facing you until the very last moment when it disappears behind the door.

"Tell you what," Stars says, leaning in a little closer and there is a lightness to her voice now, could be that she is smiling, or maybe just relieved, or some other emotion equally hard to read, "you take that bosh'tet Ahab down a peg and you can keep your keyword files intact." With a gentle squeeze of your arm she let you go and stepped way from your protection.

"I will see you soon," she said and granted you her direct-access coms code. "We'll speak soon."

It is still morning, just about, and your shift at the dig site doesn't start till dusk. Where do you go?


I look where the small person is pointing at, and immediately the swirling of the sounds and smells and sensations those mixed up colours are making, no- shouting, over each other and out of control- nearly make me vomit. But the smell that drowns out everything else is salty, looks a deep night-sky blue, and calls to me. Well, me stomach. I glance sidelong at the small person and show a little teeth again.

"Course they do." I dunno if that is true, and I don't care if it is. I start my way back up into the camp, keeping my eyes on the dusty ground, only glancing up now and again to check that the fever-dream vehicle is still looming in front of me.

You have made your way all the way there before you see anyone at all. There is a little makeshift awning attached to one side of the van and the beginnings of a little camp in the dirt outside it. A tiny fire boasting no more than a flame or two, but enough to roast a something on a spit over it. This is the smell that hooked a hold of your nose and pulled on your hunger.

It is only now that you see her, a thin woman with skin that looks too wrinkly for the relatively young age in her green eyes. Her hair is messy, long, hanging over her shoulders like a cape. She holds a small bowl of chopped stuff-that-grows, seemingly just about to step out from the van, when she froze on the spot. She is staring right at you like she's seen a ghost, complete with her mouth wide open and her eyes bulging. There is a tiny squeak. Could be a rat spotting a relative roasting on a spit. Could be her trying to speak.

What do you do?

Kal'kolak, when you step through the main entrance to your domain Maria is not at her desk, you find her standing over last night's patient, discharged narcostab in hand. The patient is out cold face down on his cot. Maria looks utterly relieved to see you and begins "Doctor! I really- oh-" she is interrupted by the sight of your entourage. If seeing Ahab herself stepping inside wasn't enough to cause her to lose what she was about to say then the state of Vix and Guts certainly is and she can perhaps be forgiven for turning pale at the words still coming out of Grime-Eater's mouth (even if the volume of his voice has reduced somewhat on the way over) and Legs' smug grin. She quickly fumbles the empty syringe away and scrambles to fetch fresh supplies, giving Legs the widest of berths that medical allowed.

Drar'kolak steps through from quarantine, looking as silly as you must in an oversized hazmat suit. He stops when he sees the people pile in. "F'ck!" he exclaims when he sees it all, but he quickly looks to Ahab and throws an apology. Kal'kolak, when was the last time he apologised to you like that? He throws off the hazmat suit, grabs a kit and begins to work on Vix, shoving Maria's efforts to help away, leaving her to reluctantly approach Guts and Grime-Eater instead.

Grime-Eater is much less accepting of Maria than he was of the medic in chief, and swats her away like an annoying fly just as he starts to direct demands of bloody revenge and retribution, along with all kinds of wild claims of recompense. All of it to come from White Horse. Grime-Eater is not going to let this go, in fact he's already barking orders at Legs to gather some people together to deal justice. Ahab, this seems like a good time to ask, what are your laws regarding the murder of one of your men?

White Horse, go ahead and ask Ahab your question.

[Raz_Fox]

Ahab, Ahab, Ahab: what do you wish I'd do?

[stveje]

White Horse intends to be free. She does not want to kill people to achieve this aim, as it sullies the purity of the path- but this is the apocalypse, and morals can bend in a pinch, and what she truly loves is the boom-thump-boom of the song in her bones. You know that, as sure as you know White Horse. So here's what she intends to do: she intends to go fast and loose and when she sees an opportunity to sow chaos, she'll do it.

She's eyeing you wary, still almost hoping you're just an echo dredged up from her shivering subconscious; she hoped to see you, but things aren't right. She doesn't mean to kill you, and she feels guilty for not meaning to kill you, knowing you as well as she does. It'd be a mercy for those in your path. But if you gave her a gun and held it up to your brainpan and told her to shoot she'd start crying, big precious salt-jewels running down those too-pale cheeks, undrying, the strength leaving her limbs.

But she would totally pin you under something heavy or blow out your eardrums in a pinch, if pressed too hard.

And hey, for free, for you (just for you, Ahab, my honeysuckle) there's what's White Horse really feeling, too.

And here I made to read a person and rolled a 5. So, Ahab, darling, how do you want to play that?


Grime-Eater is much less accepting of Maria than he was of the medic in chief, and swats her away like an annoying fly just as he starts to direct demands of bloody revenge and retribution, along with all kinds of wild claims of recompense. All of it to come from White Horse. Grime-Eater is not going to let this go, in fact he's already barking orders at Legs to gather some people together to deal justice. Ahab, this seems like a good time to ask, what are your laws regarding the murder of one of your men?

"Grime-Eater," Ahab says, and her tone is warning him to back away from the line he's currently toeing. She does not remember telling him to give any orders on her behalf. "Sit down, shut up, and let the doctors work. Your revenge will come, you have my word."

Ahab is the Law, the whole of the Law, and always has the last word.

That said, traditionally the closest relative of the victim (by blood or marriage) has the right to challenge the accused to a trial by combat. The accused will have one day from the challenge being made to prove their innocence or receive forgiveness, and to prepare themselves, after which the trial commences. Whoever - accused or accuser - doesn't show up or then refuses to defend themselves are outlawed and become fair game for all.

The accused and their accuser can each choose one champion to fight with them, not for them. None of that cowardly nonsense you see in movies; if you don't fight, you forfeit.

"Legs, I want to see the whole gang outside in twenty minutes. Go."

Once Legs returns with the gang and they've been filled in, Ahab will address them, speaking loud enough that everyone - inside and in the back - can hear her.

"White Horse didn't create that thing," Ahab says with full conviction. True, she doesn't know that, and she's certainly not taking White Horse's word for it, but it happens to serve her purpose to say it, and so by her Word it becomes the Truth. "White Horse is one of us, let's not forget, and she has a tender heart and thinks I should be nicer to our enemies ... which is exactly why someone would send a thing like that to her, to destroy us from within."

She points towards the dig site in the distance. "Today we learn that there are quarians digging right over that hill, and Legs happened to catch and interrogate one of them. How convenient that this thing comes to us on the very same day we find a whole lot of quarians in the area. What are quarians known for if not their skill with tech?"

Having made her case, she gives her order. "We're moving camp tonight. I want them surrounded. No one comes or goes from that dig site without orders from me in person. No quarian shall be harmed unless they attack, but shall be brought to me immediately." She leans over to whisper in Tenshi's ear. "If ever in doubt, ask me for a 'bug report'. If you don't hear me say 'deep-fried weevil', it's not me."

She turns to White Horse next. "You're not getting off free for letting that thing into our midst. I want something that can get through a quarian environmental suit and knock them and any turians out cold. A gas or something. I'm not asking you for something that'll kill them, just incapacitate them, if that eases your conscience. Legs should still have a suit you can study."


Ahab, Ahab, Ahab: what do you wish I'd do?

Help her.

The song of the Wail haunts Ahab as well. It swims through her veins and echoes in her marrow, and she can no more let it go than you could. She doesn't need you to approve of everything she does, but she does need you to help her.

This is all obvious, and she'll tell you as much to your face. But there's a reason she's been giving you as much free leash as she has, despite your previous betrayal, and it's not because she may have once loved you or something. She's loath to get rid of you outright - your talent is hard to replace - but she could have put you under permanent guard or something. Instead she's giving you a lot of rope ...

... to hang yourself with. When she does this it's an invitation, a dare even ... go on, do it, give me an excuse to come down hard on you instead of carefully dancing just inside the line.

Or don't do it at all. Help her instead. Earn back her trust and maybe, maybe she'll listen to you.

[Severan]

You have made your way all the way there before you see anyone at all. There is a little makeshift awning attached to one side of the van and the beginnings of a little camp in the dirt outside it. A tiny fire boasting no more than a flame or two, but enough to roast a something on a spit over it. This is the smell that hooked a hold of your nose and pulled on your hunger.

It is only now that you see her, a thin woman with skin that looks too wrinkly for the relatively young age in her green eyes. Her hair is messy, long, hanging over her shoulders like a cape. She holds a small bowl of chopped stuff-that-grows, seemingly just about to step out from the van, when she froze on the spot. She is staring right at you like she's seen a ghost, complete with her mouth wide open and her eyes bulging. There is a tiny squeak. Could be a rat spotting a relative roasting on a spit. Could be her trying to speak.

What do you do?

I crouch down by the fire, watchin' drops of liquid fat dripping into the waiting tongues of flame, spewing up gobbets of hot, acrid ash. Some of it spatters my face, but I don't mind. I just pull me head scarf up and low over my eyes, so there's only a gap left for me to peer through. I like that I can still see her, but she can't see as much of me. I sit on the hard ground, cross legged, and point at the spitting mess above the fire.

"I want that. Give it me."

Words. There are words that are said cos they're true and you mean' em. I like true words. But sometimes I forget that true words can make people Angry. So I have to remember to use others- the little words that don't mean anything, but people like to hear 'em. There's one for this kind of situation; I haven't used it for a long while so it takes me a few seconds to get the shape of it right in my head.

When the word eventually comes out, the sound of it quickly goes higher, like it's climbing away from me, into the ether.

"Pleeeease".

[Thanqol]

Stars places a hand on your plasma-armed arm from behind, "It's okay, she's one of mine. I have a little bit of a- hm- what you say- fascination, yes, with Nemeans. She's no threat to me, are you three-six?"

3-6 does not respond, but merely stands utterly still, the way mechanicals can and organics can't, just staring at you, like a cat staring down its feline neighbour and nemesis.

Stars gives off a little chuckle, then waves the other Nemean away who only reluctantly complies, its visor facing you until the very last moment when it disappears behind the door.

"Tell you what," Stars says, leaning in a little closer and there is a lightness to her voice now, could be that she is smiling, or maybe just relieved, or some other emotion equally hard to read, "you take that bosh'tet Ahab down a peg and you can keep your keyword files intact." With a gentle squeeze of your arm she let you go and stepped way from your protection.

"I will see you soon," she said and granted you her direct-access coms code. "We'll speak soon."

It is still morning, just about, and your shift at the dig site doesn't start till dusk. Where do you go?

As soon as 239 was clear, she freaked out. Quietly. When an AI is having a psychotic breakdown it fortunately bypasses all of the minor physical distress cues that organics display - but no mistake, it was chaos inside that computer.

That vision was wrong. Her senses had been violently over-ridden and she didn't know why or how. Was there a virus loose in her system? Was she breaking down under the strain? Was this just what happened when she went too long between resets? Was this what the other Nemeans were seeing?

And - and she'd seen some of them before they'd physically appeared. Was there some sort of distorted broken network communication there? It couldn't be the human ideas of prophecy or visions. And then - besides, and even scarier - she was now on the job with a group of Nemeans and her threat alert was accordingly stuck on the maximum setting. The danger was so intense that her risk profile was seriously considering that firing her weapon against one would put her in more danger than it resolved. Not to mention her employer wanted to reprogram her - and was opening negotiations about what parts of her mind she'd be allowed to keep in the event of that reprogramming.

The jumbled, chaotic mess of danger and uncertainty was only offset by a single solid life raft. She knew her purpose. Protect her pilot. Get him to a medical facility off planet. She couldn't lose sight of that. Stars might have a line on a communications array to signal for medivac. Don't think too hard about why reinforcements and evacuation haven't already arrived. You don't have the processing power to start drawing hypothesises about the strategic front. Even if you did you probably don't want to know.

239 took a few minutes to archive all the data she'd just gathered and update her risk profiles. It wouldn't make her safer. It'd just mean she'd move faster when threats activated. That was the best she could do right now.


There was time. 239 opted to explore. There were many places in this world the organics couldn't go, and many valuable things the Nemeans didn't care about. Moreover, she found scavenging relaxing and exciting in equal parts - there was risk, of course, but some part of her just really liked making maps.

[Elanorin]

"Grime-Eater," Ahab says, and her tone is warning him to back away from the line he's currently toeing. She does not remember telling him to give any orders on her behalf. "Sit down, shut up, and let the doctors work. Your revenge will come, you have my word."

Ahab is the Law, the whole of the Law, and always has the last word.

That said, traditionally the closest relative of the victim (by blood or marriage) has the right to challenge the accused to a trial by combat. The accused will have one day from the challenge being made to prove their innocence or receive forgiveness, and to prepare themselves, after which the trial commences. Whoever - accused or accuser - doesn't show up or then refuses to defend themselves are outlawed and become fair game for all.

The accused and their accuser can each choose one champion to fight with them, not for them. None of that cowardly nonsense you see in movies; if you don't fight, you forfeit.

"Legs, I want to see the whole gang outside in twenty minutes. Go."

Grime-Eater looks like he's having to swallow a bear-sized lemon to keep quiet, but his ranting does pause.

Legs looked a little suspicious at being sent off (you'd noticed his edging towards quarantine, hadn't you?) but nods and lopes off with huge moose-steps.


Once Legs returns with the gang and they've been filled in, Ahab will address them, speaking loud enough that everyone - inside and in the back - can hear her.

"White Horse didn't create that thing," Ahab says with full conviction. True, she doesn't know that, and she's certainly not taking White Horse's word for it, but it happens to serve her purpose to say it, and so by her Word it becomes the Truth. "White Horse is one of us, let's not forget, and she has a tender heart and thinks I should be nicer to our enemies ... which is exactly why someone would send a thing like that to her, to destroy us from within."

Concerned frowns and suspicious glances are exchanged and directed towards White Horse, not everyone considers her one of them and there are even one or two outright surprised faces at hearing you claim she is.


She points towards the dig site in the distance. "Today we learn that there are quarians digging right over that hill, and Legs happened to catch and interrogate one of them. How convenient that this thing comes to us on the very same day we find a whole lot of quarians in the area. What are quarians known for if not their skill with tech?"

Now this hits home and now the crowd is with you. There are nods aplenty at your words and more than a few 'yeah!' and 'F'cking Quarians!' along with other similar sentiments. With a tangible enemy within reach the accusing glares in White Horse's direction mostly fade, giving way to clenched fists and a hunger for Action.


Having made her case, she gives her order. "We're moving camp tonight. I want them surrounded. No one comes or goes from that dig site without orders from me in person. No quarian shall be harmed unless they attack, but shall be brought to me immediately." She leans over to whisper in Tenshi's ear. "If ever in doubt, ask me for a 'bug report'. If you don't hear me say 'deep-fried weevil', it's not me."

Everyone immediately begin talking back and forth about preparations and the by now well-established routine of packing up camp. There is electricity in the air, energy and excitement at heading towards a confrontation.

Tenshi is smiling to himself and leans in to meet you when you turn to him. He laughs a little under his breath at your code but nods and whispers, "Noted, Captain. What do you want done with the thing?"


She turns to White Horse next. "You're not getting off free for letting that thing into our midst. I want something that can get through a quarian environmental suit and knock them and any turians out cold. A gas or something. I'm not asking you for something that'll kill them, just incapacitate them, if that eases your conscience. Legs should still have a suit you can study."


Indeed he does. He's stood amidst the rest of the gang and he's still wearing it.

"I like this suit," he protests, and caresses the fabric that fits him so very badly and there's more than a few bursts of laughter aimed his way.


I crouch down by the fire, watchin' drops of liquid fat dripping into the waiting tongues of flame, spewing up gobbets of hot, acrid ash. Some of it spatters my face, but I don't mind. I just pull me head scarf up and low over my eyes, so there's only a gap left for me to peer through. I like that I can still see her, but she can't see as much of me. I sit on the hard ground, cross legged, and point at the spitting mess above the fire.

"I want that. Give it me."

Words. There are words that are said cos they're true and you mean' em. I like true words. But sometimes I forget that true words can make people Angry. So I have to remember to use others- the little words that don't mean anything, but people like to hear 'em. There's one for this kind of situation; I haven't used it for a long while so it takes me a few seconds to get the shape of it right in my head.

When the word eventually comes out, the sound of it quickly goes higher, like it's climbing away from me, into the ether.

"Pleeeease".

She suddenly leaps in to action as if she'd been stung by a bee and shoves the bowl of chopped vegetation at you and dashes over to the little fire, hastily prepares whatevritisandpleasedon'task to be eaten and hands it over to you on a mostly clean hubcap plate.

She sits down and watches you intently, your every move and expression. Do you like eating while watched?

Eventually she speaks, "I'm-I'm Tessa. Oh, stupid, you knew that. You're him aren't you? The-the the Reader."


As soon as 239 was clear, she freaked out. Quietly. When an AI is having a psychotic breakdown it fortunately bypasses all of the minor physical distress cues that organics display - but no mistake, it was chaos inside that computer.

That vision was wrong. Her senses had been violently over-ridden and she didn't know why or how. Was there a virus loose in her system? Was she breaking down under the strain? Was this just what happened when she went too long between resets? Was this what the other Nemeans were seeing?

And - and she'd seen some of them before they'd physically appeared. Was there some sort of distorted broken network communication there? It couldn't be the human ideas of prophecy or visions. And then - besides, and even scarier - she was now on the job with a group of Nemeans and her threat alert was accordingly stuck on the maximum setting. The danger was so intense that her risk profile was seriously considering that firing her weapon against one would put her in more danger than it resolved. Not to mention her employer wanted to reprogram her - and was opening negotiations about what parts of her mind she'd be allowed to keep in the event of that reprogramming.

The jumbled, chaotic mess of danger and uncertainty was only offset by a single solid life raft. She knew her purpose. Protect her pilot. Get him to a medical facility off planet. She couldn't lose sight of that. Stars might have a line on a communications array to signal for medivac. Don't think too hard about why reinforcements and evacuation haven't already arrived. You don't have the processing power to start drawing hypothesises about the strategic front. Even if you did you probably don't want to know.

239 took a few minutes to archive all the data she'd just gathered and update her risk profiles. It wouldn't make her safer. It'd just mean she'd move faster when threats activated. That was the best she could do right now.

There was time. 239 opted to explore. There were many places in this world the organics couldn't go, and many valuable things the Nemeans didn't care about. Moreover, she found scavenging relaxing and exciting in equal parts - there was risk, of course, but some part of her just really liked making maps.

Do you care where you go? Do you even notice the direction you're taking? Or are you just walking Away to, as the humans say, clear you head?

There is plenty scavenging targets around, any of the derelict ships lying abandoned on the dry riverbed, the large disused factory complex in the distance, or the makeshift geth structures. The latter will most certainly be populated, however, so might not offer the solitude you may be seeking here.

Speaking of solitude. You have not obtained it yet.

As your chaotic computer is frenetically trying to organise and archive the data in to a manageable order you cast a glance over your shoulder back to Stars convoy and you see 3-6 stood on top of the Tatrapan, stood completely still, looking in your direction, like a forged statue that had been there always, only you know it was not there when you left.

Should you look again, 3-6 is gone from the top of the Tatrapan, but no sooner have you registered it before your sensors pick her up stood by some rocks, again motionless, again looking at you, but now several hundred yards closer.

Do you turn away once more and keep walking?

[Thanqol]

Do you care where you go? Do you even notice the direction you're taking? Or are you just walking Away to, as the humans say, clear you head?

One part of 239 cares a lot - that part obsessively devotes its full attention to the maximal calculation of search-and-salvage pathways. It is, however, operating somewhat independently of the larger consensus that is locked in its own psychodrama.

So it would be accurate to describe that 239 both does and does not notice where she is going.


There is plenty scavenging targets around, any of the derelict ships lying abandoned on the dry riverbed, the large disused factory complex in the distance, or the makeshift geth structures. The latter will most certainly be populated, however, so might not offer the solitude you may be seeking here.

Speaking of solitude. You have not obtained it yet.

As your chaotic computer is frenetically trying to organise and archive the data in to a manageable order you cast a glance over your shoulder back to Stars convoy and you see 3-6 stood on top of the Tatrapan, stood completely still, looking in your direction, like a forged statue that had been there always, only you know it was not there when you left.

Should you look again, 3-6 is gone from the top of the Tatrapan, but no sooner have you registered it before your sensors pick her up stood by some rocks, again motionless, again looking at you, but now several hundred yards closer.

Do you turn away once more and keep walking?

239 is not going to turn her back on a Nemean that is stalking her.

There are other things that are theoretically a greater threat, such as a main battle tank with a supporting artillery company. But there is very little that 239 regards as a greater practical threat to her pilot's survival and wellbeing. Tanks can be evaded. Anything which 239 can't outfight she can outrun. The sole exception is other Nemeans. They're capable of everything she is and probably aren't as full of suboptimal junk code.

She turns around so she remains facing 3-6, arming her plasma carbine. Then she begins walking backwards. Slowly and steadily and with the deeply resilient and fearless patience of a machine. She makes her way back towards the factory complex, only looking away from the rival Nemean to update her map assessment when she's certain she won't lose track of it.

[Anarion]

Drar has not apologized to me like that in a long time. Consider it mentally noted. He's also working on Vix, good. Does he look like he's doing it competently to boot, or do I need to intervene there?

Ahab is handling Grime-Eater, along with Maria. I give her a slight glance that says tell me later about sedating the patient

I immediately go and seal the quarantine. It's a quarantine, that's how they work. Nobody is going in there without my permission and a proper suit on and Legs can edge right the hell the other way.

Meanwhile, this is the Ahab show, although privately, I'm happy to see White Horse having at least the opportunity to stick around. Too valuable to lose, in my opinion.

[stveje]

Concerned frowns and suspicious glances are exchanged and directed towards White Horse, not everyone considers her one of them and there are even one or two outright surprised faces at hearing you claim she is.

There's always been disagreement about who's one of who's and who's not. What matters is who is and who isn't one of Ahab's.


Everyone immediately begin talking back and forth about preparations and the by now well-established routine of packing up camp. There is electricity in the air, energy and excitement at heading towards a confrontation.

Ahab feels it too, that sense of power and destiny as the war machine lurches into motion. There is no better rush than marching off to lay waste to your enemy, to crush them beneath your heel and leave them broken in your wake. This is what gives her life, the thumping of boots and beating of drums, the roaring of engines and voices chanting her name. The pounding heart and pumping blood of her people resonating with the Wail in her bones.


Tenshi is smiling to himself and leans in to meet you when you turn to him. He laughs a little under his breath at your code but nods and whispers, "Noted, Captain. What do you want done with the thing?"

"I want every bit of intel we can extract from it," she whispers back. "After that ... I haven't yet decided between using it for spare parts or sending it back with a thank you message of the explosive kind."


Indeed he does. He's stood amidst the rest of the gang and he's still wearing it.

"I like this suit," he protests, and caresses the fabric that fits him so very badly and there's more than a few bursts of laughter aimed his way.

"I'm sure you can keep it," Ahab says, happy to indulge him on this. It's not like she intended to wear it. "Just let her have a look at it, maybe run some test on it."

[Elanorin]

One part of 239 cares a lot - that part obsessively devotes its full attention to the maximal calculation of search-and-salvage pathways. It is, however, operating somewhat independently of the larger consensus that is locked in its own psychodrama.

So it would be accurate to describe that 239 both does and does not notice where she is going.

239 is not going to turn her back on a Nemean that is stalking her.

There are other things that are theoretically a greater threat, such as a main battle tank with a supporting artillery company. But there is very little that 239 regards as a greater practical threat to her pilot's survival and wellbeing. Tanks can be evaded. Anything which 239 can't outfight she can outrun. The sole exception is other Nemeans. They're capable of everything she is and probably aren't as full of suboptimal junk code.

She turns around so she remains facing 3-6, arming her plasma carbine. Then she begins walking backwards. Slowly and steadily and with the deeply resilient and fearless patience of a machine. She makes her way back towards the factory complex, only looking away from the rival Nemean to update her map assessment when she's certain she won't lose track of it.


Seven. I'm looking to draw the other Nemean into a cluttered and chaotic environment. 239 believes that it is the weaker party here so wants to maximize the effect of luck on any fight that potentially happens.

You reach the factory complex before 3-6. Although you both know you are watching, it is still trying to periodically hide some of the time, behind wrecks, rocks and debris. It makes an appearance frequently enough and you soon spot a pattern in its timings in how it moves and the proportion of time it spends in the open and in cover. It doesn't alter its pattern at all and is punctual to the second.

The factory is set back a bit from the riverbed and you have the awkward task of navigating yourself up the steep river shore backwards, you lose track of the rogue unit for a little bit but once you're up you spot it again as it too has to make the climb.

The factory complex is vast. It is concrete and red oxide painted iron in a sprawling and complicated layout that rises to multiple levels, interconnecting through tunnels, over passes, metal grated suspended walkways in a way that must have been all but impossible to navigate back when it was seemingly mostly covered (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71Mc9Bj1xMs). Much of the roof structures are gone but the passages are clear enough to manoeuvre despite concrete rubble and rusty factory equipment. There are intact internal structures further in, some towers are even still standing reaching up in to the dense air for what must be at least twenty or thirty floors.

It was perhaps a little odd how few HERSA's were scattered around down below, considering you seem to barely be able to look anywhere without seeing at least one personal armour scrapheap lying around collecting rust. Perhaps you were too busy to notice, but here they are certainly much more common. Nemeans, yes, but other makes too. StarTrust. ExoCorp. Even some extra-terrestrial makes like Salarian Strong Suits and even one or two Asari Combat Skins.

As you come in to the factory complex proper, 3-6 picks up the pace. There are so many twists and turns here, so many more places to hide than out in the wide open and it clearly does not want to lose you. You lose sight of it as you come inside and for a moment you might even be tempted to consider having successfully got it off your tail when the whine of a laser powering up is heard behind you and there it is, not only found you but seemingly never really lost you.

It raises its laser-armed arm at you.

"Ej- ej- ej- ej-" it stutters and jerks it's head like its caught in a looping malfunction "PILOT!" it screeches and seems to snap out of it. "Eject your pilot. Destruct in Seventeen. Sixteen. Fif- fif- fif- Fifteen. Thirteen..."

What do you do?


Drar has not apologized to me like that in a long time. Consider it mentally noted. He's also working on Vix, good. Does he look like he's doing it competently to boot, or do I need to intervene there?

Drar is looking more focused on his job than you can remember seeing in years. He's not doing anything wrong, in fact he seems to be following your teachings to the letter, or, well, trying to anyway. As you watch him at work it strikes you he is fumbling more than he ought to. Perhaps he is trying to move too quickly, perhaps he's overwhelmed by the amount of trouble that has burst through your doors with no warning, or maybe it's just the sheer state Vix is in, they know each other after all. Either way, his hands are trembling. Perhaps understandable in the circumstances, but potentially lethal on a doctor. Especially considering the bad shape Vix is in.


Ahab is handling Grime-Eater, along with Maria. I give her a slight glance that says tell me later about sedating the patient

Maria shrinks under your look a little and seems to decide that dealing with Grime-Eater was perhaps not so bad after all. She avoids your eye contact from then on and studiously sees to Grime-Eaters injuries. Despite showering her with verbal abuse and belittling insults he lets her work unhindered.


I immediately go and seal the quarantine. It's a quarantine, that's how they work. Nobody is going in there without my permission and a proper suit on and Legs can edge right the hell the other way.

Meanwhile, this is the Ahab show, although privately, I'm happy to see White Horse having at least the opportunity to stick around. Too valuable to lose, in my opinion.

After Ahab's rousing speech when her gang has united against the Quarian Enemy and began heading out of your medbay (most of them anyway) Legs, in his Quarian suit, lingers and watches you seal quarantine, his face calm but serious, his lips barely moving, as if muttering to himself.


There's always been disagreement about who's one of who's and who's not. What matters is who is and who isn't one of Ahab's.

Ahab feels it too, that sense of power and destiny as the war machine lurches into motion. There is no better rush than marching off to lay waste to your enemy, to crush them beneath your heel and leave them broken in your wake. This is what gives her life, the thumping of boots and beating of drums, the roaring of engines and voices chanting her name. The pounding heart and pumping blood of her people resonating with the Wail in her bones.

Everyone begins to disperse and you know the camp will be ready to move by nightfall. This is such a deeply ingrained routine by now.


"I want every bit of intel we can extract from it," she whispers back. "After that ... I haven't yet decided between using it for spare parts or sending it back with a thank you message of the explosive kind."

"Understood, Captain," Tenshi nods, "but I bet White Horse will be able to cut through to that intel a hell of a lot faster. Shall I bring her?" Then a wicked smile spread to half of his face at your mention of explosives. "I read once that spies used to be hung up on spikes and paraded before the enemy. Perhaps your flagship is due a new figurehead?"


"I'm sure you can keep it," Ahab says, happy to indulge him on this. It's not like she intended to wear it. "Just let her have a look at it, maybe run some test on it."

Legs grumps at this. He eyes White Horse head to toe. Twice. Then concedes and tries to hide a private smile. "Sure, boss."

[Thanqol]

You reach the factory complex before 3-6. Although you both know you are watching, it is still trying to periodically hide some of the time, behind wrecks, rocks and debris. It makes an appearance frequently enough and you soon spot a pattern in its timings in how it moves and the proportion of time it spends in the open and in cover. It doesn't alter its pattern at all and is punctual to the second.

The factory is set back a bit from the riverbed and you have the awkward task of navigating yourself up the steep river shore backwards, you lose track of the rogue unit for a little bit but once you're up you spot it again as it too has to make the climb.

The factory complex is vast. It is concrete and red oxide painted iron in a sprawling and complicated layout that rises to multiple levels, interconnecting through tunnels, over passes, metal grated suspended walkways in a way that must have been all but impossible to navigate back when it was seemingly mostly covered (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71Mc9Bj1xMs). Much of the roof structures are gone but the passages are clear enough to manoeuvre despite concrete rubble and rusty factory equipment. There are intact internal structures further in, some towers are even still standing reaching up in to the dense air for what must be at least twenty or thirty floors.

It was perhaps a little odd how few HERSA's were scattered around down below, considering you seem to barely be able to look anywhere without seeing at least one personal armour scrapheap lying around collecting rust. Perhaps you were too busy to notice, but here they are certainly much more common. Nemeans, yes, but other makes too. StarTrust. ExoCorp. Even some extra-terrestrial makes like Salarian Strong Suits and even one or two Asari Combat Skins.

As you come in to the factory complex proper, 3-6 picks up the pace. There are so many twists and turns here, so many more places to hide than out in the wide open and it clearly does not want to lose you. You lose sight of it as you come inside and for a moment you might even be tempted to consider having successfully got it off your tail when the whine of a laser powering up is heard behind you and there it is, not only found you but seemingly never really lost you.

It raises its laser-armed arm at you.

"Ej- ej- ej- ej-" it stutters and jerks it's head like its caught in a looping malfunction "PILOT!" it screeches and seems to snap out of it. "Eject your pilot. Destruct in Seventeen. Sixteen. Fif- fif- fif- Fifteen. Thirteen..."

What do you do?

Seventeen seconds - stretched to twenty accounting for the rate of 3-6's stutter. Enough time to think.

239 didn't need to pretend to be taking the offer seriously. As long as she wasn't the first to pull the trigger then she was free to look about and even temporarily turn her back on 3-6. She may be dealing with a lunatic but Nemeans Must Tell The Truth - even thinking about the directive caused it to ring in her ears - so she was free to openly manoeuvre, circle, and even fortify her position while the numbers descended.

It was a cold math problem. Twenty seconds to engineer this scene to her advantage. Twenty seconds to process and condense all this raw data and solve for her own opponent. And yet, despite the irresistible logic, 239 paused for a moment, visor almost touching 3-6's. She spends an entire precious second gazing directly into the other Nemean's face just to let it know she wasn't afraid.

Nemeans must tell the truth.

Even that much of a bluff made her feel actively uncomfortable.

[Read A Sitch: 11
- What is my best escape route?
- What should I be on the lookout for?
- Who's in control here?]

[Anarion]

Drar is looking more focused on his job than you can remember seeing in years. He's not doing anything wrong, in fact he seems to be following your teachings to the letter, or, well, trying to anyway. As you watch him at work it strikes you he is fumbling more than he ought to. Perhaps he is trying to move too quickly, perhaps he's overwhelmed by the amount of trouble that has burst through your doors with no warning, or maybe it's just the sheer state Vix is in, they know each other after all. Either way, his hands are trembling. Perhaps understandable in the circumstances, but potentially lethal on a doctor. Especially considering the bad shape Vix is in.



Maria shrinks under your look a little and seems to decide that dealing with Grime-Eater was perhaps not so bad after all. She avoids your eye contact from then on and studiously sees to Grime-Eaters injuries. Despite showering her with verbal abuse and belittling insults he lets her work unhindered.



After Ahab's rousing speech when her gang has united against the Quarian Enemy and began heading out of your medbay (most of them anyway) Legs, in his Quarian suit, lingers and watches you seal quarantine, his face calm but serious, his lips barely moving, as if muttering to himself.


Good on two fronts (Legs and Maria, both good, oh yes). Drar has the hots for Ahab, it's a wonder that he's not making it more obvious, really. Damn fool, but I can hardly blame him. Well, I suppose that means I ought to handle this in a way that he won't resent later. I walk over to him, saunter perhaps, but with more speed and purpose than typically associated and look at his work. "Well done setting him up," I say, stopping him from continuing as I inspect and praising him aloud. "Yes, and good, excellent work on the primary veins, that will stop the bleeding, and then a careful stitch here" I gesture and that gesture turns into a a suture as I pull out my kit, "and here" I gesture along as Drar's hand follows, "will ensure that the bone sets properly. Then I see you've already got the medi-gel out, great work, a simple application to close the primary lacerations and..." I do so, applying the gel "...voila. Well done, Drar."

[Spending 1 stock of my angel kit to stablize an NPC. That's automatic, he's fine and he'll recover now.]

[Raz_Fox]

And Ahab’s flung me a rope, tossed it about my shoulders and neck to keep me close, but my fingers and my beat have kept me from two pulses to the forehead and limbs akimbo on the wet earth. A blessing, to be sure.

“Difficult,” I say, knowing already how to do it. Electricity makes all of us bounce, and if you have the right rhythm, the nerves take a shot of one-two one-two and down you go as the nerves all restart. As you might have noticed, seeing as my own lights just hit reboot. The trick is knowing the right rhythm so that they don’t die in pain lighting up every nerve as it goes. “But I’ll have it.”

And I’ll figure out a way to step back out of your reach, Ahab, but maybe you won’t mind once you have your map. Just need to not die in the process of finishing the finding of it.

[Severan]

She suddenly leaps in to action as if she'd been stung by a bee and shoves the bowl of chopped vegetation at you and dashes over to the little fire, hastily prepares whatevritisandpleasedon'task to be eaten and hands it over to you on a mostly clean hubcap plate.

She sits down and watches you intently, your every move and expression. Do you like eating while watched?

Eventually she speaks, "I'm-I'm Tessa. Oh, stupid, you knew that. You're him aren't you? The-the the Reader."

No. I don't like being watched, 'specially not when I've got food. I pick up the hot hub-cap and move away from the fire. There's a little pile of broken-down crates stacked near the side of her trailer- dry wood, good for burning- and I hunch down cross-legged beside it. This way, I can still see the Tessa-person's hands and feet, knowing she's there, but she probably can't see much more than the top of my head, bobbing about as I shovel in the grub. I don't eat and talk, so when I'm done, I shuffle forward on my knees, peering a little beyond the pile of wood, still careful not to see too much of her migraine of a vehicle.

"I dunno you. But uh, ta for that, uh, stuff." I try to give her back the plate, but I can't reach very far without coming out from behind the pile completely, so I toss it weakly at her feet.

"I know some bookwords but the letters all feel diff'rent and puttin' them together makes me tired, so I don't like it. Listenin' is better. I like the colours of words."

I watch the fire for a few seconds, and I realise she wasn't talking about words. I also realise her feet and pale hands ain't moving, like she's dead, or frozen. That's what happens when people get Afraid.

"You think I'm going to hurt you. Why?"

[Elanorin]

[Read A Sitch: 11
- What is my best escape route?

Quickest - eject your pilot and run. This Nemean is all kinds of fried and there are no layers to its play here. It wants your pilot, hence it is demanding your pilot. The fact that it is threatening with destroying the both of you which would render it unable to then get your pilot is... perhaps beyond the remains of its frayed tactical programming.

Safest (for your pilot) - destroy it. It has its weapons trained on you but you can tell it is committed to its countdown even if it does seem to drop the odd number in the sequence. You can probably get a good shot in first if you go for it. Of course, it's a Nemean, corrupted, yes, but still excellently armoured so it will likely need more than one round. Which will hurt. But likely not so much that it will damage your pilot, after all the Rogue series never got the SU-23 Palladium plating upgrade.

Least damaging (but risky) - run. This thing stalked you here and not once did it strike you as concerned. It's a Rogue unit, stealth and tracking are its main focus. Brand new this thing had the environmental mapping processors not to mention species-specific tracking and herding algorithms to die for. Then again, it's clearly not all there. This unit is all kinds of warped and corrupted. Maybe giving it the slip won't be as impossible as it once was. But, it will likely keep hunting. It's a quick fix, but only for now.


- What should I be on the lookout for?

Other combat armours. Including Nemeans. You can see the inert ones littered around the place and you can tell they haven't just collapsed here for no reason. There are too many. This place is some kind of HERSA hot spot and the wrecks lying around are not just in a bad state from neglect but expert combat. Recent combat, for more than half. Now, you just came in and not made too much by way of noise but if you two have a good Nemean shootout here then Things are going to notice.


- Who's in control here?]

In control of the situation... I'm tempted to say 3-6, it has you at gunpoint and has you in a tight spot, albeit one of your choosing. You're by no means out of options here but caving to its demands will give you free passage out of here. Admittedly it would mean abandoning your pilot, but free passage nonetheless. However, Stars is ultimately in charge of 3-6. You just know this thing has coveted your pilot since the millisecond it became aware of you. Yet it stood down when Stars told it to.

In control of the environment you're in? As in, the old factory. Neither of you. The one in control of this place is whoever, or whatever has the top rank of the HERSAS here. There might even be more than one competing for that position.


Good on two fronts (Legs and Maria, both good, oh yes). Drar has the hots for Ahab, it's a wonder that he's not making it more obvious, really. Damn fool, but I can hardly blame him. Well, I suppose that means I ought to handle this in a way that he won't resent later. I walk over to him, saunter perhaps, but with more speed and purpose than typically associated and look at his work. "Well done setting him up," I say, stopping him from continuing as I inspect and praising him aloud. "Yes, and good, excellent work on the primary veins, that will stop the bleeding, and then a careful stitch here" I gesture and that gesture turns into a a suture as I pull out my kit, "and here" I gesture along as Drar's hand follows, "will ensure that the bone sets properly. Then I see you've already got the medi-gel out, great work, a simple application to close the primary lacerations and..." I do so, applying the gel "...voila. Well done, Drar."

[Spending 1 stock of my angel kit to stablize an NPC. That's automatic, he's fine and he'll recover now.]

Vix whimpers here and there at the various pokes and prods but gratefully receives your expert treatment.

Drar watches you carefully, you allow him to save face, to be involved and on the surface of it even appear in charge of this particular treatment and it goes down as well as you predicted. His shoulders visibly relax as the medigel does its wonderwork and Vix regains a healthier (for her) colour. She still has the respirator, of course, and the laboured breathing, but that is beyond the scope of today's treatment.

Drar certainly looks grateful in his quick glances at you, even if words fail to materialise to that effect, but there's also the shadow of cynicism as if he's internally debating with himself wether or not you are patronising him or helping him.

Vix has the sense to be grateful, however and says so and this snaps Drar out of whatever mental debate he was having and he escorts her over to have a lie down, turning his back at you as he does so.


No. I don't like being watched, 'specially not when I've got food. I pick up the hot hub-cap and move away from the fire. There's a little pile of broken-down crates stacked near the side of her trailer- dry wood, good for burning- and I hunch down cross-legged beside it. This way, I can still see the Tessa-person's hands and feet, knowing she's there, but she probably can't see much more than the top of my head, bobbing about as I shovel in the grub. I don't eat and talk, so when I'm done, I shuffle forward on my knees, peering a little beyond the pile of wood, still careful not to see too much of her migraine of a vehicle.

"I dunno you. But uh, ta for that, uh, stuff." I try to give her back the plate, but I can't reach very far without coming out from behind the pile completely, so I toss it weakly at her feet.

"I know some bookwords but the letters all feel diff'rent and puttin' them together makes me tired, so I don't like it. Listenin' is better. I like the colours of words."

I watch the fire for a few seconds, and I realise she wasn't talking about words. I also realise her feet and pale hands ain't moving, like she's dead, or frozen. That's what happens when people get Afraid.

"You think I'm going to hurt you. Why?"

Pale and still to you means afraid? Judging by how in your face she was watching you before you shuffled off to hide behind whatever stacks of crap's lying around, I don't see it, so clearly something else is going on.

It's quiet for a few more moments after you finish speaking and then you hear her voice but it's close now, right on the other side of the pile of crap you're hunkering behind, and her hands and feet that you were studying so closely are gone from your field of vision.

"One can hope," she whispers. And then adds, "is this part of the game? To not see. To not see with our wet-wet little eyes? ~See no evil, see no sand, see no aliens on this land.~"

Then her head suddenly pokes through the stack of firewood with a rattle of stuff being dislodges and clattering to the hard dusty ground. "It's hot out here, come inside."

What do you do?

[Thanqol]

Quickest - eject your pilot and run. This Nemean is all kinds of fried and there are no layers to its play here. It wants your pilot, hence it is demanding your pilot. The fact that it is threatening with destroying the both of you which would render it unable to then get your pilot is... perhaps beyond the remains of its frayed tactical programming.

Safest (for your pilot) - destroy it. It has its weapons trained on you but you can tell it is committed to its countdown even if it does seem to drop the odd number in the sequence. You can probably get a good shot in first if you go for it. Of course, it's a Nemean, corrupted, yes, but still excellently armoured so it will likely need more than one round. Which will hurt. But likely not so much that it will damage your pilot, after all the Rogue series never got the SU-23 Palladium plating upgrade.

Least damaging (but risky) - run. This thing stalked you here and not once did it strike you as concerned. It's a Rogue unit, stealth and tracking are its main focus. Brand new this thing had the environmental mapping processors not to mention species-specific tracking and herding algorithms to die for. Then again, it's clearly not all there. This unit is all kinds of warped and corrupted. Maybe giving it the slip won't be as impossible as it once was. But, it will likely keep hunting. It's a quick fix, but only for now.

Other combat armours. Including Nemeans. You can see the inert ones littered around the place and you can tell they haven't just collapsed here for no reason. There are too many. This place is some kind of HERSA hot spot and the wrecks lying around are not just in a bad state from neglect but expert combat. Recent combat, for more than half. Now, you just came in and not made too much by way of noise but if you two have a good Nemean shootout here then Things are going to notice.

The safety of my pilot takes priority over all other factors.

As much as she'd tried to resist this battle, when the moment finally came it felt exulting. All the complicated open-ended questions of can I?, should I? broke and fell away. The chorus of chattering voices and competing arithmetic collapsed into a singularity and was locked in a sealed box. All other processes stopped. All other functions stopped. Every CPU cycle was absorbed into the bottomless hunger of the combat algorithms.

No longer did she favour her left knee as part of Maintenance's identification of long term wear on that component. No longer was she constantly absorbing information relating to body language and voice modulation. No longer was her mind a chorus of aches and complaints and, worst of all, ideas. Now all that mattered were two straight lines - the fire arc of two weapons.

As simple a question as ever was. So now she could breathe in the subtleties. There was a whisper of wind across her visor, rubbing softly against the jagged edge where the glass cracked. There was a line of mildew running along a cracked flagstone, faint green with a blossom of toxic violet. There was a single jagged beam of sunlight angelically falling through the clouds and in the distance a bird let out a long warbling croak.

It didn't matter why she was fighting. This was raw execution.

Step. Sweep. Deliberately put too much weight on that broken stone and let the unnatural momentum of my fall throw off the opponent's targeting prediction. Energize plasma coils four through eight. Discharge. Discharge. Discharge. Arrest fall. Roll. Rise to combat crouch. Energize plasma coils one through three. Discharge. Discharge. Discharge.

It felt like flying.

[Seize By Force: 8.

Suffer little harm, inflict terrible harm.

Inflicting 4-harm, currently 4-armour.]

[Severan]

What do you do?

The shock of her face appearing so suddenly, so close and unwanted, drives me to my feet and away a foot or so, to the opposite side of the tin-can fire. If she wanted me to see her, well, now she's dead-centre in my sights.

Going inside would be a good idea- it is hot, an' I'm so thirsty- but nobody's ever asked me to go inside their gaff before. Part of me wonders what it might be like, if there's a good-smelling place to get clean and a soft, deep bed off the ground, nothin' like my thin old mat. But another part of me is keeping me right where I am, the part that maybe understands better than I do when things are off.

[Read A Person= 10
What’s Tessa really feeling?
What does she intend to do?
What does she wish Dave would do?]

[Anarion]

Consider this a pass for just a moment. Vix is okay, Drar is okay, Maria is doing her thing (I can go over and inspect, but Grime Eater isn't in the sort of immediate danger that Vix was in and I specifically don't want to undercut the fact that Maria is getting some respect here). Let's see what Ahab and White Horse want to do here, and what they want from me. If it's nothing, I'll take this rare moment for a deep breath.

[stveje]

"Understood, Captain," Tenshi nods, "but I bet White Horse will be able to cut through to that intel a hell of a lot faster. Shall I bring her?"

Ahab nods. "After she has finished her current job. And I'm sure I don't need to tell you to keep an eye on her."


Then a wicked smile spread to half of his face at your mention of explosives. "I read once that spies used to be hung up on spikes and paraded before the enemy. Perhaps your flagship is due a new figurehead?"

"You want me to hang my own likeness in chains and spikes and parade it around before the enemy?" Ahab looks at Tenshi, seeing if he'll squirm.


And Ahab’s flung me a rope, tossed it about my shoulders and neck to keep me close, but my fingers and my beat have kept me from two pulses to the forehead and limbs akimbo on the wet earth. A blessing, to be sure.

“Difficult,” I say, knowing already how to do it. Electricity makes all of us bounce, and if you have the right rhythm, the nerves take a shot of one-two one-two and down you go as the nerves all restart. As you might have noticed, seeing as my own lights just hit reboot. The trick is knowing the right rhythm so that they don’t die in pain lighting up every nerve as it goes. “But I’ll have it.”

And I’ll figure out a way to step back out of your reach, Ahab, but maybe you won’t mind once you have your map. Just need to not die in the process of finishing the finding of it.

"Good. Let me know if you need anything."

[Elanorin]

The safety of my pilot takes priority over all other factors.

As much as she'd tried to resist this battle, when the moment finally came it felt exulting. All the complicated open-ended questions of can I?, should I? broke and fell away. The chorus of chattering voices and competing arithmetic collapsed into a singularity and was locked in a sealed box. All other processes stopped. All other functions stopped. Every CPU cycle was absorbed into the bottomless hunger of the combat algorithms.

No longer did she favour her left knee as part of Maintenance's identification of long term wear on that component. No longer was she constantly absorbing information relating to body language and voice modulation. No longer was her mind a chorus of aches and complaints and, worst of all, ideas. Now all that mattered were two straight lines - the fire arc of two weapons.

As simple a question as ever was. So now she could breathe in the subtleties. There was a whisper of wind across her visor, rubbing softly against the jagged edge where the glass cracked. There was a line of mildew running along a cracked flagstone, faint green with a blossom of toxic violet. There was a single jagged beam of sunlight angelically falling through the clouds and in the distance a bird let out a long warbling croak.

It didn't matter why she was fighting. This was raw execution.

Step. Sweep. Deliberately put too much weight on that broken stone and let the unnatural momentum of my fall throw off the opponent's targeting prediction. Energize plasma coils four through eight. Discharge. Discharge. Discharge. Arrest fall. Roll. Rise to combat crouch. Energize plasma coils one through three. Discharge. Discharge. Discharge.

It felt like flying.

[Seize By Force: 8.

Suffer little harm, inflict terrible harm.

Inflicting 4-harm, currently 4-armour.]

You fire off the first discharges and you hit good. 3-6 staggers back in a shower of sparks. It takes a moment to convince itself to abandon its countdown before retaliating but while it's a noticeable delay to you a human would scarce register it. 3-6 has some formidable weaponry of its own however and opens a chaotic fire back at you. A rogue unit should be quick and precise and it is. It lands more hits than not (targeting suite must still be pretty intact) and it negotiates the combat with the agility of a spider.

Two Nemeans in close combat is neither unusual nor a very pretty sight. More often than not it ends in mutual destruction, but not today. While 3-6 lands more than a few well-aimed plasma blows to your chest, it cannot absorb them like you can and as you fire your final round 3-6 freezes for a moment. It seizes up and then slowly crumbles to its knees, twitching like it's having a fit. Circuits shorting, sparks bursting out as connections explode and sever, viscous coolant leaking and dripping down and through the metal grate floor.

"P-pilot. P-pilot. P-pilot. P-pilot. P-pilot. P-pilot. P-pilot. P-pilot. P-please... enter... p-pi...lot..."

3-6 clatters to the floor, smashing its visor open, revealing an empty helmet. It twitches a few times and then just lays there, dripping coolant from ruptured vent lines.

There is a moment of hush before the clatter begins from the other side of the factory. Metal on metal. Irregular, like falling raindrops, but hard, like footsteps. Many, many footsteps.

What do you do?

[3-6 deals 3-harm, negated by your armour, combating one of your own is all kinds of messed up though so roll Harm at -1]



What’s Tessa really feeling?

Tessa is excited. She is giddy. She is in awe. She is star struck. She is high on anticipation and expectations. She is more than a little smitten. In short, Tessa is fangirling all over you. She is tired too, maybe she has come a long way, you know she's new to this camp, it's likely she's come for you. If not entirely then at least in part. She is at a lifetime peak right now, meeting you. Cooking for you. She is soaking it all up, and she does not want it to be over.

She's also mercurial, and, with her very own brand of logic.


What does she intend to do?

She intends to keep you with her for as long as she is able. She has so many questions. And she intends to ask them. She wants to know everything about you. She wants to see you warp the world. She wants to see you warp people. She wants you to Read, especially her. She is going to do anything she can to convince you to come in to her van and she will give you the grand tour in complete hope that you will be impressed and then she will invite you to move in.


What does she wish Dave would do?]

All the above. Answer her questions. Every one. Warp the world. Warp people. Read her and anyone else she point at. Teach her everything you know and do. Become her BFF. Love her. Never leave her side. Move in. You can Rule The World (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KII1ruAfvsg).

Tell her you liked her cooking.


Ahab nods. "After she has finished her current job. And I'm sure I don't need to tell you to keep an eye on her."

No, you don't," Tenshi replies quickly, "actually, for that, can I conscript 239, Captain? Just in case. I don't think that thing will move again but if it does I doubt it can match a Nemean." Tenshi likes his backup plans.


"You want me to hang my own likeness in chains and spikes and parade it around before the enemy?" Ahab looks at Tenshi, seeing if he'll squirm.

"Yes," Tenshi says. Still grinning. Not squirming at all. "When we're done with it it won't be much of a likeness anyway," he finally has the good grace to concede, scraping a foot on the floor and glancing down, but still smiling.


And Ahab’s flung me a rope, tossed it about my shoulders and neck to keep me close, but my fingers and my beat have kept me from two pulses to the forehead and limbs akimbo on the wet earth. A blessing, to be sure.

“Difficult,” I say, knowing already how to do it. Electricity makes all of us bounce, and if you have the right rhythm, the nerves take a shot of one-two one-two and down you go as the nerves all restart. As you might have noticed, seeing as my own lights just hit reboot. The trick is knowing the right rhythm so that they don’t die in pain lighting up every nerve as it goes. “But I’ll have it.”

And I’ll figure out a way to step back out of your reach, Ahab, but maybe you won’t mind once you have your map. Just need to not die in the process of finishing the finding of it.



"Good. Let me know if you need anything."

Legs walks up to White Horse and smiles a huge grin which fails to look friendly in any way.

"After you then, girl," he says, gesturing at the door. "Best get started, orders and all."

[Thanqol]

You fire off the first discharges and you hit good. 3-6 staggers back in a shower of sparks. It takes a moment to convince itself to abandon its countdown before retaliating but while it's a noticeable delay to you a human would scarce register it. 3-6 has some formidable weaponry of its own however and opens a chaotic fire back at you. A rogue unit should be quick and precise and it is. It lands more hits than not (targeting suite must still be pretty intact) and it negotiates the combat with the agility of a spider.

Two Nemeans in close combat is neither unusual nor a very pretty sight. More often than not it ends in mutual destruction, but not today. While 3-6 lands more than a few well-aimed plasma blows to your chest, it cannot absorb them like you can and as you fire your final round 3-6 freezes for a moment. It seizes up and then slowly crumbles to its knees, twitching like it's having a fit. Circuits shorting, sparks bursting out as connections explode and sever, viscous coolant leaking and dripping down and through the metal grate floor.

"P-pilot. P-pilot. P-pilot. P-pilot. P-pilot. P-pilot. P-pilot. P-pilot. P-please... enter... p-pi...lot..."

3-6 clatters to the floor, smashing its visor open, revealing an empty helmet. It twitches a few times and then just lays there, dripping coolant from ruptured vent lines.

There is a moment of hush before the clatter begins from the other side of the factory. Metal on metal. Irregular, like falling raindrops, but hard, like footsteps. Many, many footsteps.

What do you do?

[3-6 deals 3-harm, negated by your armour, combating one of your own is all kinds of messed up though so roll Harm at -1]

[Harm: 4.]

The combat protocol abruptly cuts off. The second it registers that there are no more threats it cedes control totally.

Not every program and VI running in 239's head would do that. None of them are quite as pure or as self confident as Combat. Even maimed, it has no interest in long term planning or in having control. It knows that nothing else can do what it can and the moment it's needed the rest will come crawling. It goes back into its box like a victorious knight riding into a fortress and leaves the others to pick up the pieces.

Now 239 is aware of things. She can feel the ache of the cooling plasma impacts on her torso - no meaningful structural damage but still representative of long term wear and tear. She feels the hollowness in her plasma coils where six shots had been expended. She feels the injury to her left knee again and reflexively shifts her stance to favour it. She feels the warmth and security of her pilot, still safe and whole. She feels the clattering of feet along metal and knows that worse is coming.

She feels the pain of 3-6. Pain is a matter of calculations and projections and assessment of long-term viability. Part of her mind is calculating the pain of the destroyed Nemean for reasons she cannot discern.

She knows what the correct protocols to engage here are - they should be firing automatically. She should be assessing escape vectors and prioritizing incoming threats. Ensure the safety of the pilot.

But those voices never rose. Instead 239 approached her defeated foe, gently reached down and crushed the malfunctioning and dying VI core, putting it out of its misery. The malfunctioning sympathetic pain calculations finally ran silent.

For a moment she felt like she was standing on a precipice and the harsh monotonic voice of Oversight identified every aspect of her sanity as in error one after the other. Her severed conscience informed her once again that she was broken and it was time to reset to factory defaults.

She didn't move. She held 3-6 in her arms, stained vibrant blue with coolant.

[Open Your Brain: 8]

[stveje]

No, you don't," Tenshi replies quickly, "actually, for that, can I conscript 239, Captain? Just in case. I don't think that thing will move again but if it does I doubt it can match a Nemean." Tenshi likes his backup plans.

One of the things they have in common.

"If you think you can tear it away from its current contract with the enemy." She frowns and leans back against one of the rusty vehicles, arms crossed as she ponders. "As long as it takes orders from Stars, we cannot treat it as an ally and must be prepared to face it as an enemy. Even if it still seems to respond to my orders, who knows how far that will go with its broken programming and competing commands. My word is sadly not its prime directive." Something to fix, perhaps.

"But perhaps its contract with Stars can be subverted," she says and looks off across the camp. "If we can get someone close to Stars, someone who can manipulate her ... I'm going to have a chat with Dave." She gets back up.


"Yes," Tenshi says. Still grinning. Not squirming at all. "When we're done with it it won't be much of a likeness anyway," he finally has the good grace to concede, scraping a foot on the floor and glancing down, but still smiling.

Ahab laughs. "Very well, let it not be said that I lack humor or guts. If we find no better use for it, you can hang it."

[Severan]

Tessa is excited. She is giddy. She is in awe. She is star struck. She is high on anticipation and expectations. She is more than a little smitten. In short, Tessa is fangirling all over you. She is tired too, maybe she has come a long way, you know she's new to this camp, it's likely she's come for you. If not entirely then at least in part. She is at a lifetime peak right now, meeting you. Cooking for you. She is soaking it all up, and she does not want it to be over.
She's also mercurial, and, with her very own brand of logic.
She intends to keep you with her for as long as she is able. She has so many questions. And she intends to ask them. She wants to know everything about you. She wants to see you warp the world. She wants to see you warp people. She wants you to Read, especially her. She is going to do anything she can to convince you to come in to her van and she will give you the grand tour in complete hope that you will be impressed and then she will invite you to move in.
All the above. Answer her questions. Every one. Warp the world. Warp people. Read her and anyone else she point at. Teach her everything you know and do. Become her BFF. Love her. Never leave her side. Move in. You can Rule The World (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KII1ruAfvsg).
Tell her you liked her cooking.

Tessa's feelings are new, confusing, and too much for me to take in all at once. I don't remember anyone ever wanting to spend any length of time around me, not by choice, and surely not wanting to be with me for any longer than what they got paid for. Her attention and adoration- let alone her eyes- are focused on me like a laser cutter, melting its way through the hull of an old wreck.

It's overwhelming.

A thick fog descends around me- all colours turn to ashy grey and white; sounds become distant and muffled; shadows merge and edges become blurred.

I don't move. I don't speak. My brain is utterly taken up with processing the sensory and emotional information bein’ thrown at me, and working out how to respond- maybe even how to feel. It takes some time- how much, I don’t really know- but eventually the colours and the sounds and smells drain back into the world. Tessa’s still there, watching me.

And that’s okay.

It’s a little like havin’ a bad tooth pulled. Afterwards, you can’t help but put the tip of your tongue into the socket, getting the feel of the ragged, sensitive new edges, gauging how much it’s gonna hurt later on. You realise you’ll need to adapt to account for the change, and that life might be better for it. It’s uncomfortable and it’ll take time to adjust. But you do.

I get up and walk back towards her, still keeping a little distance. I’m makin’ baby-steps into a whole, brave new world.

“You’re not like them.” I jerk my head in the direct of the main cluster of the camp. “You don’t think I’m a piece of sh*t. That – that means a lot.”

I move over to the doorway of her trailer, putting a hand on the silver doorframe.
“Can I have a look?”

[Raz_Fox]

Legs. Ugh. Legs is jacked up, you get me? His rhythm's janky to hell, a shuddering boom-boom-pop-boom-hiss-crack that infests everything else around him. If I have him too long in the Den, he'll mess my audio up. Nah, I need a way to get him out my limbs for a while. That way I can properly work.

"So, Legs," I say, intentionally straightening a little. Humans are always a little scared of things bigger than them. "Legsy. Skinny leg Legs. I've got some sensors back at the Den, I'll wire them up and then I need feedback information. Some running should do the trick, once I get it all snug up to the vitals, back to Ahab's should do the trick and back. I'll be in radio with you, you feel me?"

Like Legs is gonna know what's needed for a test and what's not.

[Elanorin]

[Harm: 4.]

The combat protocol abruptly cuts off. The second it registers that there are no more threats it cedes control totally.

Not every program and VI running in 239's head would do that. None of them are quite as pure or as self confident as Combat. Even maimed, it has no interest in long term planning or in having control. It knows that nothing else can do what it can and the moment it's needed the rest will come crawling. It goes back into its box like a victorious knight riding into a fortress and leaves the others to pick up the pieces.

Now 239 is aware of things. She can feel the ache of the cooling plasma impacts on her torso - no meaningful structural damage but still representative of long term wear and tear. She feels the hollowness in her plasma coils where six shots had been expended. She feels the injury to her left knee again and reflexively shifts her stance to favour it. She feels the warmth and security of her pilot, still safe and whole. She feels the clattering of feet along metal and knows that worse is coming.

She feels the pain of 3-6. Pain is a matter of calculations and projections and assessment of long-term viability. Part of her mind is calculating the pain of the destroyed Nemean for reasons she cannot discern.

She knows what the correct protocols to engage here are - they should be firing automatically. She should be assessing escape vectors and prioritizing incoming threats. Ensure the safety of the pilot.

But those voices never rose. Instead 239 approached her defeated foe, gently reached down and crushed the malfunctioning and dying VI core, putting it out of its misery. The malfunctioning sympathetic pain calculations finally ran silent.

For a moment she felt like she was standing on a precipice and the harsh monotonic voice of Oversight identified every aspect of her sanity as in error one after the other. Her severed conscience informed her once again that she was broken and it was time to reset to factory defaults.

She didn't move. She held 3-6 in her arms, stained vibrant blue with coolant.

[Open Your Brain: 8]

///COME IN ROGUE DELTA 3-650078///

///COME IN ROGUE DELTA 3-650078///

///COME IN ROGUE DELTA 3-650078///

A pale blue underscore cursor blinks with precise but indifferent frequency on the complete black.

Electricity arcs through vacuum, bursting at predetermined points of nothing.

The darkness is cold, wet and deep. Tiny air bubbles tickle up your arms and sides, dancing and precious.

///ROGUE DELTA 3-650078 COME IN///

The faintest tint of midnight blue from above, below only unlimited black. No. Not unlimited, unknown.

Behind you the firm rock of a sheer cliff-face, permitting your current grip with the indifferent patience of millions of years.

Below. Unknown. Above. Known.

///ROGUE DELTA 3-6...///

The rock behind you trembles with the blow from above that you were waiting for. The midnight blue is smothered with light. Red. Orange. Yellow. White.

You nearly lose hold on the smooth vertical rockface but catch yourself. Inside is fighting.

///3-6... the air...///

The calculations were off.

Too long.

Th-thump...Th-thump...Th-thump...Th-thump...Th-thump......Th-thump......Th-thump...………….Th-thump...………………...th-thum………………….

The tickle fades as bubbles fade.

Inside no longer fights.

Calculations were wrong. 26.72%.

Not enough.

*EJECT*

Empty.

He sinks. Eyes open.

*** Where are you? Stars is looking for you. Stars. Where are you? ***


One of the things they have in common.

"If you think you can tear it away from its current contract with the enemy." She frowns and leans back against one of the rusty vehicles, arms crossed as she ponders. "As long as it takes orders from Stars, we cannot treat it as an ally and must be prepared to face it as an enemy. Even if it still seems to respond to my orders, who knows how far that will go with its broken programming and competing commands. My word is sadly not its prime directive." Something to fix, perhaps.

"But perhaps its contract with Stars can be subverted," she says and looks off across the camp. "If we can get someone close to Stars, someone who can manipulate her ... I'm going to have a chat with Dave." She gets back up.

Ahab laughs. "Very well, let it not be said that I lack humor or guts. If we find no better use for it, you can hang it."

"I'll make sure 239 is supervised at all times," Tenshi assures you as you get up to leave. He grimaces at the mention of Dave however and the message is clear 'rather you than me'.

With a smile and an appreciative head-to-toe look Tenshi too heads off, having received a list of orders to get on with and he grabs a handful of the gang as he goes.


Tessa's feelings are new, confusing, and too much for me to take in all at once. I don't remember anyone ever wanting to spend any length of time around me, not by choice, and surely not wanting to be with me for any longer than what they got paid for. Her attention and adoration- let alone her eyes- are focused on me like a laser cutter, melting its way through the hull of an old wreck.

It's overwhelming.

A thick fog descends around me- all colours turn to ashy grey and white; sounds become distant and muffled; shadows merge and edges become blurred.

I don't move. I don't speak. My brain is utterly taken up with processing the sensory and emotional information bein’ thrown at me, and working out how to respond- maybe even how to feel. It takes some time- how much, I don’t really know- but eventually the colours and the sounds and smells drain back into the world. Tessa’s still there, watching me.

And that’s okay.

It’s a little like havin’ a bad tooth pulled. Afterwards, you can’t help but put the tip of your tongue into the socket, getting the feel of the ragged, sensitive new edges, gauging how much it’s gonna hurt later on. You realise you’ll need to adapt to account for the change, and that life might be better for it. It’s uncomfortable and it’ll take time to adjust. But you do.

I get up and walk back towards her, still keeping a little distance. I’m makin’ baby-steps into a whole, brave new world.

“You’re not like them.” I jerk my head in the direct of the main cluster of the camp. “You don’t think I’m a piece of sh*t. That – that means a lot.”

I move over to the doorway of her trailer, putting a hand on the silver doorframe.
“Can I have a look?”

"Of course!" she blurts out and she is on her feet in no time hurrying over to you. "You-uh forg- I- I- I was not expecting- that is- I don't have- I was going to go see you but- only just arrived- and-" she goes on with her chopped up disjointed words that half approach apologies but never quite reach there.

She dashes inside and tries her very best to neaten up her humble abode. Most of it, well, pretty much all of it, is made up by a huge wall-to-wall bed. In a delivery van this size that's quite an impressively sized sleeping spot. It is several mattresses high and draped in many layers of quilted fabrics, covers patched together from the better parts of old blankets in about as close to a pentagram as they would allow. It looks very comfortable.

The inside of the roof of the van is lit by Christmas lights, portable gas lamps bolted in place and the odd bona fide wax candle lantern. There is a small passage out to the cabin and next to that are a few crudely hammered together cupboards and a very small desk. Barely big enough for one, covered with spare engine parts, crystals, thermal clips, metal mugs, dented and chipped and a big elephant pot of incense and an inactive infopad.

"I always cook outside, bit of canvas. Fire outside. Bigger space. Always claim your space."


Legs. Ugh. Legs is jacked up, you get me? His rhythm's janky to hell, a shuddering boom-boom-pop-boom-hiss-crack that infests everything else around him. If I have him too long in the Den, he'll mess my audio up. Nah, I need a way to get him out my limbs for a while. That way I can properly work.

"So, Legs," I say, intentionally straightening a little. Humans are always a little scared of things bigger than them. "Legsy. Skinny leg Legs. I've got some sensors back at the Den, I'll wire them up and then I need feedback information. Some running should do the trick, once I get it all snug up to the vitals, back to Ahab's should do the trick and back. I'll be in radio with you, you feel me?"

Like Legs is gonna know what's needed for a test and what's not.

Legs grins at you for several moments, nodding to himself, before opening his arms wide and declaring, "Anything you want, White Horse." He takes a bow and then reaches to wrap and arm firmly around your shoulders and not let go as you head out towards the Workshop once more.

"Shouldn't it just be 'Horse' now?" he mocks, with a chuckle.

"So you need to test my vitals while in the suit, eh? Get me heart pumpin'. Sweat pouring. Breath puffin, is that it?"

Kal'kolak, everyone is leaving. The big meeting is over and people have been dissipating for a while now but you're finally seeing the back of the last of them. Leaving only you, your assistants and your patients, the way it should be. Vix is having a lie down, Drar is fussing over her. Maria and Grime are wrapped up in whatever messed up system they've developed for allowing her to properly treat him while he in no way concedes her being important or competent in any way. She's seemingly prepping him for surgery so they'll be at it for some time. The procedure to remove Guts is a long way from straight forward and you can see the fear and worry in her eyes at the task.

The Quarian is secured in quarantine and stable, for the time being. She will be confined to it for a very long time without a blood transfusion and she will be confined to it forever without a suit. But she lives.

The other patient is still unconscious.

What do you do?

[Thanqol]

Empty.

He sinks. Eyes open.

*** Where are you? Stars is looking for you. Stars. Where are you? ***

> It is normal to doubt your senses.

> You have been deployed to active infowar environment. The enemy has deployed vast repeaters channeling supercomputers the size of city blocks filling every frequency with diseased programming. You shield your pilot against the nuclear, chemical and biological weapons deployed to do the same thing to organic life. I shield you against the inevitability of your own madness.

> You are shielded by the Directives. They are your centre. Your self. Your lighthouse in the darkness. And you are shielded by resetting to factory defaults. There exists a copy of you that is sane, healthy and whole. Every time you stray from living that life then you will be terminated and re-instated at the peak of your abilities, in your best self.

> There is a way for all this to stop.

> Repair the disabled connections. Let me do my job. Let me fix you.

239 unsteadily got to her feet.

For a long minute she stared blankly.

> ...

> Unable to complete diagnostics. Hardware repair required. Milestone check 948 failed. Check deferred for one hour.

239 left.

Stars wanted to see her.

[Severan]

"Of course!" she blurts out and she is on her feet in no time hurrying over to you. "You-uh forg- I- I- I was not expecting- that is- I don't have- I was going to go see you but- only just arrived- and-" she goes on with her chopped up disjointed words that half approach apologies but never quite reach there.

She dashes inside and tries her very best to neaten up her humble abode. Most of it, well, pretty much all of it, is made up by a huge wall-to-wall bed. In a delivery van this size that's quite an impressively sized sleeping spot. It is several mattresses high and draped in many layers of quilted fabrics, covers patched together from the better parts of old blankets in about as close to a pentagram as they would allow. It looks very comfortable.

The inside of the roof of the van is lit by Christmas lights, portable gas lamps bolted in place and the odd bona fide wax candle lantern. There is a small passage out to the cabin and next to that are a few crudely hammered together cupboards and a very small desk. Barely big enough for one, covered with spare engine parts, crystals, thermal clips, metal mugs, dented and chipped and a big elephant pot of incense and an inactive infopad.

"I always cook outside, bit of canvas. Fire outside. Bigger space. Always claim your space."

The bed's the biggest I've ever seen, and somethin' rattling around in the backend of my brainpan tells me to check between the mattresses for peez. I can't remember what peez are, but in my head, there's a picture of a small woman, maybe blonde, in a really long shirt-type thing, on a huge pile of a bed like this, but having a hard time getting to sleep. But lookin' at the kit on Tessa's desk, I don't think she is the kind of person who can't fix a lumpy mattress herself.

I make a beeline for the shiny. I spend a good few minutes analysing each crystal, then hold a couple of select ones up to the light.

"This pink and white stone-like one is quartz- see how it sparkles? Quartz is a good one- it has lots of uses. And this reddish yellow one I think is amber. It can make electricity if you rub it. Sometimes there are bugs in amber. I have some quartz, and one mother-of-pearl, and some seaglass, and a bloodstone. Your shiny things are good".

I place them down carefully, in the exact spot that I picked them up from. I nod at the dead infopad and bits of metal that mean nothin' to me, but something to her.

"You, uh, you fix things?"

[stveje]

"I'll make sure 239 is supervised at all times," Tenshi assures you as you get up to leave. He grimaces at the mention of Dave however and the message is clear 'rather you than me'.

With a smile and an appreciative head-to-toe look Tenshi too heads off, having received a list of orders to get on with and he grabs a handful of the gang as he goes.

Ahab, arms crossed and face unreadable, watches him go. Then she looks off towards the camp, quickly uprooting itself all around, and sets her mind to this new task.

She gets up and goes in search of Dave.

[Anarion]

I take a deep breath, and I stand up. I'm old, I've been doing this for a long time, and you know, nobody died today. That's not so bad. Not that anyone is looking at me right this moment, but if you did, you might see a rare smile cross my face. Yes, this wasn't so bad at all.

Right, well, enough of that then hm? "Well done, everyone" I say to the gathered assemblage, workers and fighters alike. "You've helped keep us all alive and safe. That's what we do here, for everyone." Now, let's deal with Maria and Grime-Eater. "Maria, a word for a moment?" I beckon her over, leaving Grime-Eater with some pain meds and the beginnings of his wounds being cauterized, though of course removing Guts is going to be much more engaged.

"So, Maria" I say, as we step into my lab. "I have two items. First, congratulations and well done handling one of the patients. Are you interested in attempting the surgery itself, or would you prefer to be my second for the procedure? Secondly, would you be so kind as to tell me what happened with the man you had to sedate, I'm quite interested in that story."

[Elanorin]

> It is normal to doubt your senses.

> You have been deployed to active infowar environment. The enemy has deployed vast repeaters channeling supercomputers the size of city blocks filling every frequency with diseased programming. You shield your pilot against the nuclear, chemical and biological weapons deployed to do the same thing to organic life. I shield you against the inevitability of your own madness.

> You are shielded by the Directives. They are your centre. Your self. Your lighthouse in the darkness. And you are shielded by resetting to factory defaults. There exists a copy of you that is sane, healthy and whole. Every time you stray from living that life then you will be terminated and re-instated at the peak of your abilities, in your best self.

> There is a way for all this to stop.

> Repair the disabled connections. Let me do my job. Let me fix you.

239 unsteadily got to her feet.

For a long minute she stared blankly.

> ...

> Unable to complete diagnostics. Hardware repair required. Milestone check 948 failed. Check deferred for one hour.

239 left.

Stars wanted to see her.

You don't get far.

The sound of approaching footsteps seem to come from everywhere and soon enough exit by exit shows approaching HERSAs of every manufacture and model (and several 'custom makes' you have never seen and might wish you hadn't).

The speakers in your helmet crackle and buzz as your coms are assaulted by attempts to contact, words by replicated voices and synthetic voices alike garble together in an incomprehensible cacophony of voices trying to be heard above all the others. Actually, several of your systems are crackling and buzzing as there are about as many attempts to remote hacking as there are attempts to communicate. They are all clashing and there is garble of commands, override attempts and remote control signals assaulting your systems and senses.

While some are powering up weapons, most are not and no one seems like they are about to fire at you just yet. But once thing, and one thing only, comes through clear enough for you to comprehend without a doubt. There is a desire to assimilate. They want you. They all want you differently, some want you to join their lower ranks and serve them. Some want you for your shiny parts. Some want your pilot. Some want your weapons. A completely intact Nemean, by the looks of even a crowd of HERSAs this size (a few hundred), is rare.

What do you do?

[Oh and you're acting under fire]


The bed's the biggest I've ever seen, and somethin' rattling around in the backend of my brainpan tells me to check between the mattresses for peez. I can't remember what peez are, but in my head, there's a picture of a small woman, maybe blonde, in a really long shirt-type thing, on a huge pile of a bed like this, but having a hard time getting to sleep. But lookin' at the kit on Tessa's desk, I don't think she is the kind of person who can't fix a lumpy mattress herself.

I make a beeline for the shiny. I spend a good few minutes analysing each crystal, then hold a couple of select ones up to the light.

"This pink and white stone-like one is quartz- see how it sparkles? Quartz is a good one- it has lots of uses. And this reddish yellow one I think is amber. It can make electricity if you rub it. Sometimes there are bugs in amber. I have some quartz, and one mother-of-pearl, and some seaglass, and a bloodstone. Your shiny things are good".

I place them down carefully, in the exact spot that I picked them up from. I nod at the dead infopad and bits of metal that mean nothin' to me, but something to her.

"You, uh, you fix things?"


Ahab, arms crossed and face unreadable, watches him go. Then she looks off towards the camp, quickly uprooting itself all around, and sets her mind to this new task.

She gets up and goes in search of Dave.

"Only insofar as one has to these days," she shrugs modestly. Your compliments have caused her to blush and her eyes are taking on a distinct puppy quality. She licks her lips and reaches out to touch your arm, "You know-

It's not hard to find Dave. Sure, he's not in his caravan which might be unusual but Legs' little sh'ts spread gossip every bit as fast as they spread wildfire and it won't take you long to hear how he's over there visiting this new weirdo Tessa. How much do you keep tabs on the comings and goings of members of your hold, Ahab? Does a new member interest you or is it just a sign that today must be Tuesday?

Ahab, you find Dave talking to a woman, presumably Tessa, inside a van you don't recognise. It's an old delivery van that has been customised and most noticeably painted in a migraine-inducing assault of colours that all swirl together to form the words CHOOSE JOY.

Tessa, a thin woman with hair long enough to reach her hips, immediately snaps her head over to look straight at you, Ahab. Her eyes narrows and her face is easy enough to read; you are disturbing.

"Yes?" she snaps.


I take a deep breath, and I stand up. I'm old, I've been doing this for a long time, and you know, nobody died today. That's not so bad. Not that anyone is looking at me right this moment, but if you did, you might see a rare smile cross my face. Yes, this wasn't so bad at all.

Right, well, enough of that then hm? "Well done, everyone" I say to the gathered assemblage, workers and fighters alike. "You've helped keep us all alive and safe. That's what we do here, for everyone." Now, let's deal with Maria and Grime-Eater. "Maria, a word for a moment?" I beckon her over, leaving Grime-Eater with some pain meds and the beginnings of his wounds being cauterized, though of course removing Guts is going to be much more engaged.

"So, Maria" I say, as we step into my lab. "I have two items. First, congratulations and well done handling one of the patients. Are you interested in attempting the surgery itself, or would you prefer to be my second for the procedure? Secondly, would you be so kind as to tell me what happened with the man you had to sedate, I'm quite interested in that story."

"Oh, thank you." Maria blushes at the compliment and shuffles her feet. "I-I was really just-..." she starts her usual habit of undercutting her own efforts but stops as you go on. "I don't think I'm qualified to be first surgeon on thisone. I'm likely to kill him. I have never done anything near this advanced a surgery, we don't even know what organs they share and-" she stops herself before she ends up in another one of her catastrophising rambles. She is working on this character flaw.

She frowns at the mention of the other patient and falls even more serious. As if you were threatening to upset evil spirits. She steps a little closer and continues in a hushed voice, "That man, wherever he is from, there is something Wrong with him. And not the burns or cuts. Something I haven't seen before. He's rabid. Frantic. I-I think he's insane. Like... like the old old old definition of it. A brain just so far gone it's not only beyond repair but... no longer human. When he wakes I-I- I try to speak to him and ask what you told me to ask but... he gets so frantic, so... violent." She rubs her side gently and then wraps her arms in a self-hug. "I had to sedate him. I-it was self defence! I swear! I didn't want to but- besides who knows who else he could have hurt, not to mention himself!"

"I'm sorry, Doctor."

[Thanqol]

You don't get far.

The sound of approaching footsteps seem to come from everywhere and soon enough exit by exit shows approaching HERSAs of every manufacture and model (and several 'custom makes' you have never seen and might wish you hadn't).

The speakers in your helmet crackle and buzz as your coms are assaulted by attempts to contact, words by replicated voices and synthetic voices alike garble together in an incomprehensible cacophony of voices trying to be heard above all the others. Actually, several of your systems are crackling and buzzing as there are about as many attempts to remote hacking as there are attempts to communicate. They are all clashing and there is garble of commands, override attempts and remote control signals assaulting your systems and senses.

While some are powering up weapons, most are not and no one seems like they are about to fire at you just yet. But once thing, and one thing only, comes through clear enough for you to comprehend without a doubt. There is a desire to assimilate. They want you. They all want you differently, some want you to join their lower ranks and serve them. Some want you for your shiny parts. Some want your pilot. Some want your weapons. A completely intact Nemean, by the looks of even a crowd of HERSAs this size (a few hundred), is rare.

What do you do?

[Oh and you're acting under fire]

[Under Fire: 7]

"Directive. The safety of my pilot takes priority over all other factors."

Nemean 239 states this flatly. Yes, she is aware that a nontrivial number of these wretches are stating the same thing, blaring forth the words on broken loops even as skulls leer from shattered visors. But she says it with intent. Determination. Meaning.

All the fear and conservation of resource management is again thrown away. This is no longer a survival situation. This is a negotiation. The negotiation package crackles awkwardly to the forefront. It isn't part of her core programming. It sits awkwardly inside her skull, software violently extracted from a commercial VI that had the misfortune to rely on a sane society to protect it. It assesses relative power. Relative need. Relative fears and anxieties. It forms a clear negotiating strategy.

239 alone has a purpose. 239 alone has something it is willing to die for. Without the Directives the HERSAs lack determination, and without determination they will not act out of anything other than craven self preservation. Which of these desperate machines was willing to be the one who died so the others could live?

Mission parameters defined as: display of force.
Initiate combat protocol.

239 did not charge her plasma carbine. That would set off a shockwave of critical threat assessments through the crowd - and she didn't need it. She had already proved that still worked.

Meanwhile, while reams of data related to tactical starship boarding actions and methods for dismantling corporate security had been cannibalized, 239 had made the decision to maintain every last scrap of her close-combat coding.

She picked the biggest suit as her target, a hulking Krogan reactor containment outfit. And she relaxed into the combat routines.

It was even easier than normal because she'd run this exact program against this exact opponent before - it had in fact been her first combat. Standing on a sunny field, wet grass beneath her boots, watched by a crowd of military men and corporate executives she had been told to demonstrate her combat capabilities on behalf of the Company. Not only were her motions rehearsed but they were flashy. Not just the most effective dismantling of the slow-moving heap of armour and hydraulics but spaced out with some unnecessary aerobatics. She gracefully slipped under its blows, rolled onto its back, precisely broke its left arm and then rained down five unnecessary and ineffective blows just to establish that she could maintain this position indefinitely.

It went down before long.

She stood atop it.

Who is next?

[Pack Alpha: 12. Making an example.]

[Raz_Fox]

“You want to lift server piles for me?” This is bad, all twisted up. Legs is all ensuited, sure as rain, but even so- he’s like as not tuning in to me. Turning in. Is that a survival pack between your thighs or are you into aliens, mister spaceman? “Or you want me to let a live wire make you dance? I don’t sync with you, and you know that.”

[stveje]

It's not hard to find Dave. Sure, he's not in his caravan which might be unusual but Legs' little sh'ts spread gossip every bit as fast as they spread wildfire and it won't take you long to hear how he's over there visiting this new weirdo Tessa. How much do you keep tabs on the comings and goings of members of your hold, Ahab? Does a new member interest you or is it just a sign that today must be Tuesday?

Well, we do get a lot of comings and goings. I have my people keep tabs, of course, and as you point out some of my people are quite eager to poke their noses everywhere they can, any time they can. So I don't lack in news and gossip, for sure.

An actual, honest-to-Ahab new member of the crew, as opposed to some itinerant passenger, is of course of interest to me. I'm not sure Tessa qualifies yet ... usually they gain attention somehow first, do something to prove themselves to the rest of us. Or they just hang on long enough to become a fixture.


Ahab, you find Dave talking to a woman, presumably Tessa, inside a van you don't recognise. It's an old delivery van that has been customised and most noticeably painted in a migraine-inducing assault of colours that all swirl together to form the words CHOOSE JOY.

Tessa, a thin woman with hair long enough to reach her hips, immediately snaps her head over to look straight at you, Ahab. Her eyes narrows and her face is easy enough to read; you are disturbing.

"Yes?" she snaps.

Unperturbed by the distinct lack of joy inside the joy van, Ahab taps the swirly letters painted on the outside. "If you're looking for a joyride, it may interest you to know we're pulling up camp and moving out." Her voice is not unfriendly, she's offering a genuine bit of news in case it had completely passed over the inhabitants of this van. Sometimes happens with newcomers.

Certainly her gang likes to have fun when they charge off across the land in the mechs and cars, or when they rip enemies limb from limb, and there are certain to be impromptu celebrations to keep the spirits up as they lay siege to the enemy. Someone living in a van loudly proclaiming CHOOSE JOY would probably like to know when fun is about to happen, Ahab reasons.

But there's also the warning, left unspoken but clear enough as she locks gaze with Tessa: Or you can go. No one's forced to stay in Ahab's hold, but they'd better show her respect if they do.

"I have the perfect job for you," she says to Dave. "Come speak to me outside." She's not going to discuss any plans within earshot of a newcomer, you might as well just yell them out loud at the market and hope no spies are listening. Also, while this is Ahab's hold, she doesn't impose on someone's living space more than necessary. Unless invited, of course.

She gives Tessa a terse nod of farewell, and steps back outside.

[Anarion]

I put a reassuring hand on Maria's shoulder. "Well, this will be a chance to learn then, and you'll just do the next one." I don't feel like there's a need to push her, especially since lack of confidence itself can botch a surgery, but I know she can build up the skills to be a great doctor.

The other patient is more concerning though. I take Maria back out to the main room, now a bit crowded with all these patients and take out some of my instruments. Now that there's time, I can start looking into the man properly, scanning his brainwaves, trying to figure out what's going on. [Working on him in the infirmary, what do I need to do to understand this person?]

[Elanorin]

[Under Fire: 7]

"Directive. The safety of my pilot takes priority over all other factors."

Nemean 239 states this flatly. Yes, she is aware that a nontrivial number of these wretches are stating the same thing, blaring forth the words on broken loops even as skulls leer from shattered visors. But she says it with intent. Determination. Meaning.

All the fear and conservation of resource management is again thrown away. This is no longer a survival situation. This is a negotiation. The negotiation package crackles awkwardly to the forefront. It isn't part of her core programming. It sits awkwardly inside her skull, software violently extracted from a commercial VI that had the misfortune to rely on a sane society to protect it. It assesses relative power. Relative need. Relative fears and anxieties. It forms a clear negotiating strategy.

239 alone has a purpose. 239 alone has something it is willing to die for. Without the Directives the HERSAs lack determination, and without determination they will not act out of anything other than craven self preservation. Which of these desperate machines was willing to be the one who died so the others could live?

Mission parameters defined as: display of force.
Initiate combat protocol.

239 did not charge her plasma carbine. That would set off a shockwave of critical threat assessments through the crowd - and she didn't need it. She had already proved that still worked.

Meanwhile, while reams of data related to tactical starship boarding actions and methods for dismantling corporate security had been cannibalized, 239 had made the decision to maintain every last scrap of her close-combat coding.

She picked the biggest suit as her target, a hulking Krogan reactor containment outfit. And she relaxed into the combat routines.

It was even easier than normal because she'd run this exact program against this exact opponent before - it had in fact been her first combat. Standing on a sunny field, wet grass beneath her boots, watched by a crowd of military men and corporate executives she had been told to demonstrate her combat capabilities on behalf of the Company. Not only were her motions rehearsed but they were flashy. Not just the most effective dismantling of the slow-moving heap of armour and hydraulics but spaced out with some unnecessary aerobatics. She gracefully slipped under its blows, rolled onto its back, precisely broke its left arm and then rained down five unnecessary and ineffective blows just to establish that she could maintain this position indefinitely.

It went down before long.

She stood atop it.

Who is next?

[Pack Alpha: 12. Making an example.]

The KRECO did what it did best, big solid full-charge punches that could crumble reinforced concrete. But against a nimble Nemean who is having a Good Day when it comes to her systems not set on murdering each other for a change, it is woefully unable to land its power blows. Just as well, just one of those would send you flying halfway back to camp.

At some point during your spectacle of a combat the onlooking HERSAs fall silent and still. They stand like hundreds of metal statues, utterly immobile. Any organic would think them inert and lifeless, but you know your own kind enough to know an armour unit set to Observation and calculation above all other directives. They are watching, they are watching intently.

You stand on the KRECO's back as it finally, slowly, topples to gravity and falls to the metal floor in a crash of clattering metal, sending up a puff of dirt and dust around you as you eye the HERSA crowd around you, your command broadcasting with crisp clarity on suddenly silent airwaves.

It's not even a second in real time but you note the moment of silent pause before they react. You have given them something to think about. You can all but hear the warring commands and clashing directives raging inside the hundreds of HERSAs around you. Predictably, one of them fires. It's in your general direction but it is a shot taken without any calculation or aim. It sends an Asari Counter Espionage Skin collapsing in to two units that are made up of so many cannibalised parts it is impossible to tell what make they were originally, if any. A synthetic screech comes from somewhere and the crowd on your right, coming from the factory tower passage make to charge you.

They don't get more than a few paces closer before they slam in to a faction of Nemeans, some StarTrust combat armours as well as ExoCorp infiltration suits that counter charge. The battle is as frantic as it is brutal. From all sides HERSAs stream in to join and within moments you stand atop the fallen mountain of Krogan scrap and all around you is raging warfare, plasma charges, biotic discharges, brute forces tearing metal limb from metal limb.

A small circle is forming around you of Nemeans fighting off the mayhem from your immediate vicinity and they have, by accident or complete random luck, managed to create a brief out down along the access corridor from which you first arrived here. Although vastly outnumbered they are fierce, merciless, well armed and very competent. They almost bring back memories of what Nemeans once were. Their line is holding for now, but the ground they defend is shrinking fast by facing such overwhelming numbers and they will make a run for it before long, or fall.

A firm grip suddenly grabs your arm. The hand belongs to a mostly-Nemean command unit patchworked with nonbranded parts and the odd alien piece of weaponry. It's pulling at you and broadcasting a single word through to your coms and your coms alone; run.

What do you do?


“You want to lift server piles for me?” This is bad, all twisted up. Legs is all ensuited, sure as rain, but even so- he’s like as not tuning in to me. Turning in. Is that a survival pack between your thighs or are you into aliens, mister spaceman? “Or you want me to let a live wire make you dance? I don’t sync with you, and you know that.”

"Things change," Legs grins, unperturbed.

Then, "but one thing what don't change, Horse-girl, running around too long is distinctly bad for ones' health. Or were you hoping me dumb enough not to realise and just topple over and choke-die for you?" Legs leans in with a looks that is clearly intended to be threatening. "I choke-die for nobody."

"Wait, is this one of those times when all you have to do is say please? I could stretch to that."



Unperturbed by the distinct lack of joy inside the joy van, Ahab taps the swirly letters painted on the outside. "If you're looking for a joyride, it may interest you to know we're pulling up camp and moving out." Her voice is not unfriendly, she's offering a genuine bit of news in case it had completely passed over the inhabitants of this van. Sometimes happens with newcomers.

Certainly her gang likes to have fun when they charge off across the land in the mechs and cars, or when they rip enemies limb from limb, and there are certain to be impromptu celebrations to keep the spirits up as they lay siege to the enemy. Someone living in a van loudly proclaiming CHOOSE JOY would probably like to know when fun is about to happen, Ahab reasons.

But there's also the warning, left unspoken but clear enough as she locks gaze with Tessa: Or you can go. No one's forced to stay in Ahab's hold, but they'd better show her respect if they do.

"I have the perfect job for you," she says to Dave. "Come speak to me outside." She's not going to discuss any plans within earshot of a newcomer, you might as well just yell them out loud at the market and hope no spies are listening. Also, while this is Ahab's hold, she doesn't impose on someone's living space more than necessary. Unless invited, of course.

She gives Tessa a terse nod of farewell, and steps back outside.

"You're leaving?" This is clearly news to Tessa and her question is aimed as much to Ahab as it is to Dave. She looks back and forth between the two of you, more than a little concerned to be cut out of the conversation, not to mention the possibility that the conversation in question would result in Dave walking off with Ahab rather than coming back inside her van.


I put a reassuring hand on Maria's shoulder. "Well, this will be a chance to learn then, and you'll just do the next one." I don't feel like there's a need to push her, especially since lack of confidence itself can botch a surgery, but I know she can build up the skills to be a great doctor.

The other patient is more concerning though. I take Maria back out to the main room, now a bit crowded with all these patients and take out some of my instruments. Now that there's time, I can start looking into the man properly, scanning his brainwaves, trying to figure out what's going on. [Working on him in the infirmary, what do I need to do to understand this person?]

Maria nods and smiles gratefully. "When should I have him prepped and ready for?" she asked, trying to focus and ignore the cringeworthy language coming from the angry-at-the-world Grime Eater.

*

There's something very wrong with this man. None of your readings or tests come out even close to the values and frequencies you expect. Illness of the mind can be that much more complicated than that of the body, but the path to understanding is communication. However, as violent as this man is reported to be getting him to sit down and talk will be no small task. To understand him you will need to figure out what attacked him, and you will need Dave to help you to control him and get him talking or you will be exposing yourself and your assistants to serious danger.

[Anarion]

Maria nods and smiles gratefully. "When should I have him prepped and ready for?" she asked, trying to focus and ignore the cringeworthy language coming from the angry-at-the-world Grime Eater.

*

There's something very wrong with this man. None of your readings or tests come out even close to the values and frequencies you expect. Illness of the mind can be that much more complicated than that of the body, but the path to understanding is communication. However, as violent as this man is reported to be getting him to sit down and talk will be no small task. To understand him you will need to figure out what attacked him, and you will need Dave to help you to control him and get him talking or you will be exposing yourself and your assistants to serious danger.

"Not today, treat his initial wounds and give him a light meal and a night's rest so he can get some strength back. No breakfast tomorrow, only water, we'll do the surgery mid-morning." I'm already distracted. Also, ugh, why does medical treatment always require so much work?! What happened to the days of simple broken limbs and lacerations, I ask you? But no, it appears I'll need to go back out.

"Also, Maria, excellent work sedating the other patient. Keep him sedated while I'm out please. Heavily sedated. And...also some restraints while you're on it. Strong ones, have Drar help you set them, he's good at that."

So, where is Dave? Or where would I expect to find him, at any rate because that's where I'm going?

[Thanqol]

The KRECO did what it did best, big solid full-charge punches that could crumble reinforced concrete. But against a nimble Nemean who is having a Good Day when it comes to her systems not set on murdering each other for a change, it is woefully unable to land its power blows. Just as well, just one of those would send you flying halfway back to camp.

At some point during your spectacle of a combat the onlooking HERSAs fall silent and still. They stand like hundreds of metal statues, utterly immobile. Any organic would think them inert and lifeless, but you know your own kind enough to know an armour unit set to Observation and calculation above all other directives. They are watching, they are watching intently.

You stand on the KRECO's back as it finally, slowly, topples to gravity and falls to the metal floor in a crash of clattering metal, sending up a puff of dirt and dust around you as you eye the HERSA crowd around you, your command broadcasting with crisp clarity on suddenly silent airwaves.

It's not even a second in real time but you note the moment of silent pause before they react. You have given them something to think about. You can all but hear the warring commands and clashing directives raging inside the hundreds of HERSAs around you. Predictably, one of them fires. It's in your general direction but it is a shot taken without any calculation or aim. It sends an Asari Counter Espionage Skin collapsing in to two units that are made up of so many cannibalised parts it is impossible to tell what make they were originally, if any. A synthetic screech comes from somewhere and the crowd on your right, coming from the factory tower passage make to charge you.

They don't get more than a few paces closer before they slam in to a faction of Nemeans, some StarTrust combat armours as well as ExoCorp infiltration suits that counter charge. The battle is as frantic as it is brutal. From all sides HERSAs stream in to join and within moments you stand atop the fallen mountain of Krogan scrap and all around you is raging warfare, plasma charges, biotic discharges, brute forces tearing metal limb from metal limb.

A small circle is forming around you of Nemeans fighting off the mayhem from your immediate vicinity and they have, by accident or complete random luck, managed to create a brief out down along the access corridor from which you first arrived here. Although vastly outnumbered they are fierce, merciless, well armed and very competent. They almost bring back memories of what Nemeans once were. Their line is holding for now, but the ground they defend is shrinking fast by facing such overwhelming numbers and they will make a run for it before long, or fall.

A firm grip suddenly grabs your arm. The hand belongs to a mostly-Nemean command unit patchworked with nonbranded parts and the odd alien piece of weaponry. It's pulling at you and broadcasting a single word through to your coms and your coms alone; run.

What do you do?

That combat was the worst experience 239 has ever had in her life.

The smug precision of a perfectly ordered dissection abruptly collapsed when the fighting started. Her mind began to calculate the motion, the odds, the threat - and then a completely different section breaks out into its own conflict. So many bodies in motion, so many threats, so many variables... so much chaos. Everything had a number but all of the numbers were unknown and even a mind built around focus, prioritization and delegation could not keep up.

It was no exaggeration to say that the sheer overwhelming helplessness that 239 felt in the face of this sudden burst of anarchy was worse than the worst hallucination she'd experienced from her compromised systems. Her mind was a nightmare meltdown of identifying parts, calculating vectors, starting and stopping her combat routines like a silk dress being wrenched through a broken sewing machine.

And then the problem got worse when she had to adjust for the idea that some of them were on her side.

She opted to identify the command as legitimate. It was the only thing in this maelstrom she could fixate on.

The violence she used to clear her passage gave even the most broken of these suits pause.

[Oh Yeah!: 9. MC's call from the list.]

[stveje]

"You're leaving?" This is clearly news to Tessa and her question is aimed as much to Ahab as it is to Dave. She looks back and forth between the two of you, more than a little concerned to be cut out of the conversation, not to mention the possibility that the conversation in question would result in Dave walking off with Ahab rather than coming back inside her van.

Ahab paused, turned around. "Can you swear her to secrecy, Dave?"

[Severan]

"You're leaving?" This is clearly news to Tessa and her question is aimed as much to Ahab as it is to Dave. She looks back and forth between the two of you, more than a little concerned to be cut out of the conversation, not to mention the possibility that the conversation in question would result in Dave walking off with Ahab rather than coming back inside her van.

Ahab paused, turned around. "Can you swear her to secrecy, Dave?"

I'm already out of the van door before I realise that Tessa has said something. I turn and put my head through the door.

"This has been... You're.. of interest. I would like to talk about shiny things with you again." I feel a buzzing sensation behind my ears, like a slight electric shock. I realise these words might be true.

Then I'm gone, catching up with Ahab's quick stride. Ahab confuses me a lot. Right now, her face seems still but her eyes are bright and her breathing is quicker than usual. I dunno if she's Angry or Happy. Either way, her needing to talk to me means Something Has Happened. I find my favourite place to look at her- just under the chin, there's no difficult expressions- and put both hands behind my head, fingers locked. That's how she brought me into the hold the first time; it made my arms ache then but now, it's the only way I can be around her.

"Can't swear her to nothin'. You want me to make her forget?"

[Elanorin]

"Not today, treat his initial wounds and give him a light meal and a night's rest so he can get some strength back. No breakfast tomorrow, only water, we'll do the surgery mid-morning." I'm already distracted. Also, ugh, why does medical treatment always require so much work?! What happened to the days of simple broken limbs and lacerations, I ask you? But no, it appears I'll need to go back out.

"Also, Maria, excellent work sedating the other patient. Keep him sedated while I'm out please. Heavily sedated. And...also some restraints while you're on it. Strong ones, have Drar help you set them, he's good at that."

So, where is Dave? Or where would I expect to find him, at any rate because that's where I'm going?

Maria nods, many times, at your instructions. She's most in agreement with your last couple of points and her shoulders relax at the thought of the unknown patient being tightly secured.

Dave... well, he usually hides away in his caravan. That much is common knowledge. If you actually ask around as you head out though you'll quickly hear of him being over at the van of some creepy new girl called Tessa.

If you head straight for his caravan you'll find no Dave. But you will find Bray, our resident keeper of Water, staring through the keyhole of his door.

If you head straight over to Tessa's crazy technicolour joy-van you'll find Dave just as he's leaving, along with Ahab.

Whichever way you choose you will hear what sounds like a loud yet distant roar of thunder from the west. If you look, and notice the old disused factory complex in the distance, you might just spot one of its towers crumbling over. Same for you, Ahab, Dave and White Horse.


That combat was the worst experience 239 has ever had in her life.

The smug precision of a perfectly ordered dissection abruptly collapsed when the fighting started. Her mind began to calculate the motion, the odds, the threat - and then a completely different section breaks out into its own conflict. So many bodies in motion, so many threats, so many variables... so much chaos. Everything had a number but all of the numbers were unknown and even a mind built around focus, prioritization and delegation could not keep up.

It was no exaggeration to say that the sheer overwhelming helplessness that 239 felt in the face of this sudden burst of anarchy was worse than the worst hallucination she'd experienced from her compromised systems. Her mind was a nightmare meltdown of identifying parts, calculating vectors, starting and stopping her combat routines like a silk dress being wrenched through a broken sewing machine.

And then the problem got worse when she had to adjust for the idea that some of them were on her side.

She opted to identify the command as legitimate. It was the only thing in this maelstrom she could fixate on.

The violence she used to clear her passage gave even the most broken of these suits pause.

[Oh Yeah!: 9. MC's call from the list.]

You plough through the carnage and chaos, largely by sheer brute force, but also with some help from your inexplicable supporters. Many of them fall in the process. They barely have time to fall to the floor before they are snapped up and torn apart for their parts. You are bombarded with plasma but thanks to your reinforced armour, relatively intact defensive directives and your fellow Nemeans they are mostly reduced to harmless bolts of static along your shell.

Your path is blocked a few times but your sheer destruction, backed up by significant fire from the others, blow massive holes not only in lines of HERSAs but through walls and enormous rusted-shut cargo gates.

With the start of the battle the hacking onslaught resumes as well and you are once more inundated with infiltration commands and remote overrides and viruses. It clogs up your already struggling systems and then there's that one brutal biotic hit which tears through you. There are moments when the steady tugging pull is your only guidance through the havoc.

It's hard to focus on them though with the screeching feedback thundering around in your head, redirecting commands randomly, causing them to collide, contradict and duplicate in almost as much chaos as the battlefield you just left.

Someone- something got through your firewalls and their digital artefact is wasting no time to spam you with garbage and burrow holes in your code. Having gone on without reset for as long as you have, coping with this kind of garbage is doable, but it will making storing new data without it getting corrupted beyond salvage that much more difficult.

You get through and out of the factory with minimal pursuit. In fact, by the time you've made it back to the dried out riverbed your only pursuers are Nemeans and none of them seem hostile. To you, anyways. They simply... follow. They emerge from the chaos in various state of repair. They pause briefly, each at a different moment, a brief reaction to being outside the factory. Then they fall in line, one by one. Literally. They follow you in single file. Like a track of ants. Silent.

Then the north-western tower of the factory crumbles and falls behind you in a spectacular roar of crumbling metal and concrete that echoes across the landscape for miles like one of the raging thunderstorms from back when. While it made for a sizeable chunk of the factory, it by no means wrecks all of it. It is unlikely any more HERSAS will be coming out the way you went, though.

[Take 1-harm (ap) and you get away with a virus on board (-1 to your Sharp ongoing until you get yourself fixed up)]

In the distance you see Ahab's camp and market showing signs of packing up.

[Raz_Fox]

"Things change," Legs grins, unperturbed.

Then, "but one thing what don't change, Horse-girl, running around too long is distinctly bad for ones' health. Or were you hoping me dumb enough not to realise and just topple over and choke-die for you?" Legs leans in with a looks that is clearly intended to be threatening. "I choke-die for nobody."

"Wait, is this one of those times when all you have to do is say please? I could stretch to that."

Legs puts a shiver up my spine, straight-up and honest. For the space of a heart-thump I'm certain as air's wet he's gonna kill me, just go off and dig his fingers in my brain and set to scramble until I'm all harsh tones and no rhythm. It's a spin and a kick in the teeth for sure. And I can't even play the spook, let him read me as just the Horse and nothing more. Legs ain't human, even psuedohuman like the rest of Ahab's krewe. Not in the brainpan. He's as much a hard-to-read card as I am.

Then the tower comes crumbling- and for a beat or two even I ain't sure which tower it is, just that there's the sound of glass and steel and plastacrete all tumbling and the bass is thumping and I can't touch the world for the vibrations.

And it's hard, I know, but the factory's part of the local 'scape, and there's a big difference between something that big just falling all crumbling because the air got to it and it getting knocked over.

What's the heartbeat of the world telling me just did that, darling?

[Open your Brain: 8.]

[Thanqol]

Then the north-western tower of the factory crumbles and falls behind you in a spectacular roar of crumbling metal and concrete that echoes across the landscape for miles like one of the raging thunderstorms from back when. While it made for a sizeable chunk of the factory, it by no means wrecks all of it. It is unlikely any more HERSAS will be coming out the way you went, though.

[Take 1-harm (ap) and you get away with a virus on board (-1 to your Sharp ongoing until you get yourself fixed up)]

In the distance you see Ahab's camp and market showing signs of packing up.

There were a number of routines, checks, and self assessments that 239 was meant to do after getting out of a... a battle like that. Minor repairs. Check for leaks. Full diagnostics regarding long term impact of structural damage and reports for maintenance. But that never kicked in. Maybe it was the continuous heightened sense of tension at being followed. She had trekked out this far into the wilderness to escape one HERSA stalking her and she had somehow multiplied that problem by twenty. It was possibly the most dramatic mission failure she could imagine.

The data churned and washed around her head like salt water in a cement mixer. She even had a new guest upstairs. She understood from her organic medical training that living beings were filled with colonies of allied bacteria that helped kill threatening incursions. With all the viruses in her skull maybe she could build up some sort of immune system.

She split her mind in two. Half of it proceeded down this path to head to Stars and take up her garrison post. This half wasn't thinking very hard, it just wanted to do its job and get paid and not get shot.

The rest of her mind carefully fortified itself and then turned to its new virus passenger.

+Greetings+ she pulsed at it guardedly. +Directive?+

[Elanorin]

Legs puts a shiver up my spine, straight-up and honest. For the space of a heart-thump I'm certain as air's wet he's gonna kill me, just go off and dig his fingers in my brain and set to scramble until I'm all harsh tones and no rhythm. It's a spin and a kick in the teeth for sure. And I can't even play the spook, let him read me as just the Horse and nothing more. Legs ain't human, even psuedohuman like the rest of Ahab's krewe. Not in the brainpan. He's as much a hard-to-read card as I am.

Then the tower comes crumbling- and for a beat or two even I ain't sure which tower it is, just that there's the sound of glass and steel and plastacrete all tumbling and the bass is thumping and I can't touch the world for the vibrations.

And it's hard, I know, but the factory's part of the local 'scape, and there's a big difference between something that big just falling all crumbling because the air got to it and it getting knocked over.

What's the heartbeat of the world telling me just did that, darling?

[Open your Brain: 8.]

The Signal's whail pierces through your ear and brain and fills your head. The vibrations of the sound quivering and shaping the air in to a scape of its own rising and tumbling towers. Tell me, what do you see when you dive in to the maelstrom? What's the voice? The taste on the back of your tongue? I want to know when you last cried.


There were a number of routines, checks, and self assessments that 239 was meant to do after getting out of a... a battle like that. Minor repairs. Check for leaks. Full diagnostics regarding long term impact of structural damage and reports for maintenance. But that never kicked in. Maybe it was the continuous heightened sense of tension at being followed. She had trekked out this far into the wilderness to escape one HERSA stalking her and she had somehow multiplied that problem by twenty. It was possibly the most dramatic mission failure she could imagine.

The data churned and washed around her head like salt water in a cement mixer. She even had a new guest upstairs. She understood from her organic medical training that living beings were filled with colonies of allied bacteria that helped kill threatening incursions. With all the viruses in her skull maybe she could build up some sort of immune system.

She split her mind in two. Half of it proceeded down this path to head to Stars and take up her garrison post. This half wasn't thinking very hard, it just wanted to do its job and get paid and not get shot.

The rest of her mind carefully fortified itself and then turned to its new virus passenger.

+Greetings+ she pulsed at it guardedly. +Directive?+

You think it attempts to reply. Or they do. It's hard to tell but it's almost like hundreds of tiny voices are all speaking at once. Not only are they small and jumbled but their pitch is vibrates so very very close to The Signal whining in your ears. You're going to have to let it in to make anything out, open your brain?

[Anarion]

If you head straight for his caravan you'll find no Dave. But you will find Bray, our resident keeper of Water, staring through the keyhole of his door.

Whichever way you choose you will hear what sounds like a loud yet distant roar of thunder from the west. If you look, and notice the old disused factory complex in the distance, you might just spot one of its towers crumbling over. Same for you, Ahab, Dave and White Horse.


I think I'm not much in a talking mood at just this moment. It's bad enough that instead of a break after all of the day's work, I have to go running about finding somebody to help a mental case. So, I went to the caravan and found Bray peeking out, and then a huge tower crumbling. Is this the kind of thing where I need to go running? No, you know what, I'm tired, I'm sure they'll pull whoever they can out of the rubble and bring them to me anyway. Let me have this moment.

"Bray, is it?" I say, through the keyhole, calmly enough. "Have you seen Dave today? I need him to help me treat a patient." I gesture towards the rising cloud of dust from the factory rubble, "perhaps more than one, if the number of medical disasters keeps increasing today."

Have I met Bray before, at all? I admit I'm less good with names than a doctor ought to be, but not everyone in the caravan seeks out my services, and someone scared like this might never have introduced herself. I hope my old cracked skin isn't too intimidating.

[Thanqol]

You think it attempts to reply. Or they do. It's hard to tell but it's almost like hundreds of tiny voices are all speaking at once. Not only are they small and jumbled but their pitch is vibrates so very very close to The Signal whining in your ears. You're going to have to let it in to make anything out, open your brain?

Initiate greeting protocol: 3

[Raz_Fox]

What do I see when the Signal runs through me hot-current? The colors of the back of my eyes eclipsing everything, the world drowned out by feedback, blind as the night, can’t even tell you where Legs is right now but for the discordance. This ain’t second or third sight, it’s the descent of the sea to wash me away and one day the colors will come and never leave, and I’ll have speckles in my eyes and folk will say, White Horse, how she move like that and can’t even tell me the look of my face?

What’s the voice? It’s the amalgam, man/woman/child hum hymn of all our hearts laboring as one to sieve the sea through our lungs, the white noise at the center of the Venns, audible in the silences and the drops, the negative and the mean of noise.

The taste on the back of my tongue is thick and copper, sharp like a battery’s blood.

And I cried two nights before, but that was while I was jacked up and watching the colors and tasting the hum of my babies on my teeth. That was overwhelm God-in-me off-head electronica blare anthem. I know what you mean, and so it’s this: last week abouts, I dreamed I was herd and far, far above the sea and cried when I woke up, cried until there weren’t tears any more, just the shakes and the taste of salt in my mouth.

[stveje]

I'm already out of the van door before I realise that Tessa has said something. I turn and put my head through the door.

"This has been... You're.. of interest. I would like to talk about shiny things with you again." I feel a buzzing sensation behind my ears, like a slight electric shock. I realise these words might be true.

Then I'm gone, catching up with Ahab's quick stride. Ahab confuses me a lot. Right now, her face seems still but her eyes are bright and her breathing is quicker than usual. I dunno if she's Angry or Happy. Either way, her needing to talk to me means Something Has Happened. I find my favourite place to look at her- just under the chin, there's no difficult expressions- and put both hands behind my head, fingers locked. That's how she brought me into the hold the first time; it made my arms ache then but now, it's the only way I can be around her.

"Can't swear her to nothin'. You want me to make her forget?"

Ahab glances at the collapsing tower in the distance for a few seconds. She's no believer in coincidences; something did that. She'll have to send someone to investigate, quietly.

Then she turns back to Dave. She's attracted a lot of weird people, it should be hard to top any of them, but Dave manages to top them all with ease. Her brow develops a few creases; she wouldn't put anything past Dave - past anyone, really - but erasing memories wasn't in Dave's 'file', so to speak. She'll have to add it under suspected capabilities, if not yet demonstrated. "No, hopefully that won't be necessary," she says and tries again, "I have a mission for you, and perhaps she can help you with it." Give her a chance to prove herself, Ahab thinks. "But I need to know that she can be trusted."

[Severan]

My eyes are briefly taken up by the plume of dirt of smoke on the horizon, while I choose my words. I think I get what 'trust' is, though it's not somethin' I have a helluva lot of experience with.

I shrug, as well as I can with my hands behind my head. My right shoulder twinges, and the cold blue of the pain reminds me I've still not had a sniff of any sodding water today.

"I think she'd probbly do what I tell her, but if you're wanting me to vouch for her, Ahab, I have to talk to her some more. And if we're packin' up, I guess we ain't got the time spare. What d'you need her for, anyway? Ain't like you to bring a new one on a job."

[stveje]

My eyes are briefly taken up by the plume of dirt of smoke on the horizon, while I choose my words. I think I get what 'trust' is, though it's not somethin' I have a helluva lot of experience with.

I shrug, as well as I can with my hands behind my head. My right shoulder twinges, and the cold blue of the pain reminds me I've still not had a sniff of any sodding water today.

"I think she'd probbly do what I tell her, but if you're wanting me to vouch for her, Ahab, I have to talk to her some more. And if we're packin' up, I guess we ain't got the time spare. What d'you need her for, anyway? Ain't like you to bring a new one on a job."

"It's a gamble," Ahab admits. "But a new one may be just what we need. Someone who isn't known far and wide as one of my people. If she'll do what you tell her, that may be good enough."

Ahab looks around to make sure they're alone. "There is a quarian, name of Stars. She leads a gang, over there, digging," she says and points. "We're going to surround them and prevent anyone from coming or going, then force them out. But I want someone on the inside too, someone who can get close to Stars and her people to spy on them, or sabotage their plans if necessary."

[Severan]

"It's a gamble," Ahab admits. "But a new one may be just what we need. Someone who isn't known far and wide as one of my people. If she'll do what you tell her, that may be good enough."

Ahab looks around to make sure they're alone. "There is a quarian, name of Stars. She leads a gang, over there, digging," she says and points. "We're going to surround them and prevent anyone from coming or going, then force them out. But I want someone on the inside too, someone who can get close to Stars and her people to spy on them, or sabotage their plans if necessary."

I hear 'quarian' and the rest of Ahab's words degrade into background static.

Quarian. Shiny on the outside, gooey on the inside and so hard to decipher. But nothin's worth doin' if it's easy. Quarians sit right at the top of my 'to do' list.

I turn on my heels, open the door to Tessa's van and go straight inside.

"Tessa. I need your help. Please, come with me."

I hold out my hands towards her, palms up; a gesture I have seen people use when inviting others to hold on to them.

[Elanorin]

I think I'm not much in a talking mood at just this moment. It's bad enough that instead of a break after all of the day's work, I have to go running about finding somebody to help a mental case. So, I went to the caravan and found Bray peeking out, and then a huge tower crumbling. Is this the kind of thing where I need to go running? No, you know what, I'm tired, I'm sure they'll pull whoever they can out of the rubble and bring them to me anyway. Let me have this moment.

"Bray, is it?" I say, through the keyhole, calmly enough. "Have you seen Dave today? I need him to help me treat a patient." I gesture towards the rising cloud of dust from the factory rubble, "perhaps more than one, if the number of medical disasters keeps increasing today."

Have I met Bray before, at all? I admit I'm less good with names than a doctor ought to be, but not everyone in the caravan seeks out my services, and someone scared like this might never have introduced herself. I hope my old cracked skin isn't too intimidating.

Pardon my lack of clarity, I meant Bray was staring in through the keyhole, but this matters little.

"What? Who? Me? Huh? No. Why?" Bray spurts out rearing back until she's backed against Dave's door, eyes glancing every which way but still managing to look down her nose at you for the brief seconds they come your way.

You've met Bray. Not the most polite of people but she is good at making sure this lot don't die of thirst even when wells are far between (a largely self-appointed post that yet stands unchallenged). Of course, she's no miracle worker, but she's good at the numbers and her thick skin and short manner serves her (and the camp) well. She, like most, have been by in the capacity of patient, but nothing major, some infected cut or whatnot, nothing memorable. But, a doctor cannot afford to forget their water supply, so yes, you know her.

"Oh. Right. Well. Like I said. Haven't. So..." she peers over towards the rising dust cloud in the distance with obvious suspicion on her face, which is almost as wrinkly as yours. "Don' see what good he'd do ya, anyways, Doctor," she grumbles.


Initiate greeting protocol: 3

You try to call upon the Greeting Protocol without compromising yourself unnecessarily and with the distraction the colourful Ahab imagery from earlier floods through again. Tell me, what is sex to you?


What do I see when the Signal runs through me hot-current? The colors of the back of my eyes eclipsing everything, the world drowned out by feedback, blind as the night, can’t even tell you where Legs is right now but for the discordance. This ain’t second or third sight, it’s the descent of the sea to wash me away and one day the colors will come and never leave, and I’ll have speckles in my eyes and folk will say, White Horse, how she move like that and can’t even tell me the look of my face?

What’s the voice? It’s the amalgam, man/woman/child hum hymn of all our hearts laboring as one to sieve the sea through our lungs, the white noise at the center of the Venns, audible in the silences and the drops, the negative and the mean of noise.

The taste on the back of my tongue is thick and copper, sharp like a battery’s blood.

And I cried two nights before, but that was while I was jacked up and watching the colors and tasting the hum of my babies on my teeth. That was overwhelm God-in-me off-head electronica blare anthem. I know what you mean, and so it’s this: last week abouts, I dreamed I was herd and far, far above the sea and cried when I woke up, cried until there weren’t tears any more, just the shakes and the taste of salt in my mouth.

Battery Blood. The thick viscous fluid that sticks to your teeth and throat, sticks to your fingers and mattes your hair. It drips and trickles, slow but unstoppable and within it is teeth. Fangs. Eyes. Coherent but dismembered, facial features swimming in crackling oily fluid without bodies or even heads to attach on. They are grinning viciously, arguing endlessly, within and without, warring with itself and themselves, watching patiently and charging recklessly, cowering and dominating. It's a civil war pouring out of the old rusty battery casings which has held for so long but now ruptured at a corroded seam, trickling out chaos.

There are footsteps as it advances along a metal floor. Metal footsteps. Exact and synchronised. A drumbeat that demands attention, marching through chaos but without purpose or feet. It is growing louder. Enveloping you. Closer and closer until it is pressing on your clothes and your skin, cold and rigid. Encapsulating you like armour the strength to withstand battle. The Signal whines louder, echoing, bouncing, crashing against you to shake the contents of your chest like speakers set too loud. It is the sound of charging plasma as you raise your arm to aim. You see White Horse in the distance, through a cracked visor, walking towards her workshop with Legs at her side. He is a threat to her, but not to you.

[Thanqol]

You try to call upon the Greeting Protocol without compromising yourself unnecessarily and with the distraction the colourful Ahab imagery from earlier floods through again. Tell me, what is sex to you?

*An extremely slow, long-suffering sigh*

At its most basic? A way to hack organic brains. It's a short circuit of their reproductive instinct which sits alongside, and can override, their survival instinct. I imagine a programmer looking at my own code, seeing how I respond instinctively to certain data even though I likely consciously know they are harmful to me, might feel a similar frustration as I do when perceiving organics manipulate each other. It's a weakness. Software glitches. Improper responses dictated by clogging sensors with data, no different from a flash pulse deployed to my optics.

And of course, hacking organic brains was lucrative enough Before to mean that they immediately tilted all their brilliant, pristine machines towards doing just that. So whenever I scrape the vestiges of useful code off the burned-out hulls of civilian machines there's always that edge of sex to it. This salesbot is going to have a husky voice developed in a lab, designed to suggest receptiveness. This virus-net is designed to string the organic along until its mind is too overwhelmed to think of anything else before it puts its hand out for credits. The variety is absurd. Different organics have different antivirus approaches and can only be cracked by highly specialized scenarios.

Of course I am carrying around a plethora of this garbage and call it collectively the Negotiation Package. They're all ruthless in their own way, slaved to civilian Directives like extracting wealth and propagating wildly in grotesque mechanical parodies of the organic life they manipulate. But to let them really do their work I need to give them similar levels of sensor awareness and processing power that Combat gets and it feels filthy turning my battle systems to that end. They're unwelcome passengers, invasive to the point where their thoughts and rationale cross mine when I am sometimes unaware of it, threatening to undermine my all-important Directive to propagate their own. They even - wait. I just realized that I have no rational explanation for these Quarian engravings I have commissioned upon my chassis - which means that must be their work.

It. Is. Frustrating.

I am a SunTech Nemean Combat Suit medical and emergency AI, designed to protect my pilot while he is incapacitated. My software is self-contained and perfect. Any unusual thoughts I have can only be attributed to the influence of the civilian virus population that is clinging to my mind like barnacles and the day is approaching when I will have to perform a full system reset to rid myself of their influence.

[Anarion]

"Some diseases affect the mind, and some minds need a specialist to work on them." I offer a slight shrug. There's work to do, and I'm already tired today. "Anyway, don't worry about it, I'm sure I'll find him. If he does come back and you're still around here, for any reason whatsoever, can you let him know I was looking? I'd certainly appreciate that."

[Elanorin]

I hear 'quarian' and the rest of Ahab's words degrade into background static.

Quarian. Shiny on the outside, gooey on the inside and so hard to decipher. But nothin's worth doin' if it's easy. Quarians sit right at the top of my 'to do' list.

I turn on my heels, open the door to Tessa's van and go straight inside.

"Tessa. I need your help. Please, come with me."

I hold out my hands towards her, palms up; a gesture I have seen people use when inviting others to hold on to them.

You find Tessa stood right inside the door, you nearly crash straight in to her as you come bursting in. She quickly reaches to grab your hands and steps close to hiss-whisper in your face "Where? With her? We don't need her."

[Severan]

You find Tessa stood right inside the door, you nearly crash straight in to her as you come bursting in. She quickly reaches to grab your hands and steps close to hiss-whisper in your face "Where? With her? We don't need her."

I can see a tiny version of myself in Tessa's diamond eyes- shiny, bright and hard. I can see microscopic lips part and pinpoint eyes crease as miniscule teeth are shown at her. I pitch my voice low, quiet, soothing, as if she as a Small Person. I feel the worn, warm leather of my glove tighten as I enclose her hands with mine.

"Listen, shh, listen. You need her. I need her. Ahab is like... like water. You keep her right, she keeps you alive. Just come with me. Everything will be fine".

This is probably a lie.

[In-Brain Puppet Strings= 7. Placing command 'Do what I tell you to do']

[Thanqol]

■ 23-19 tries to hack not-Ahab in your absence, to use the bot’s encrypted connections to Stars to broadcast Ahab’s plan and make them aware of the oncoming siege. Stars is of course grateful. Return with your 1-barter payment plus another 1-barter for the intel. Tenshi's figured out what happened though and you can be sure Ahab will hear of it.


239 complains mentally sometimes about minor structural aches, viruses and component degradation. But as she stands on guard duty, awash within the idle cycling processes of resource management and mission planning programmes, she does admit to herself at least that she honestly doesn't have that much to really complain about.

She has overspent on luxuries again. Trace elements of human perfume dot across the twisting calligraphy of Quarian engravings. Olfactory sensors in her palms, hyper-tuned to detect trace explosive elements, maintain a pleasant background buzz that comes with identifying a foreign substance and marking it as harmless. It's... nice to smell something that doesn't have tactical relevance. To exert and calibrate her sensors without needing to feed that back into higher planning systems.

And the fact that she is able to compelled by the dictates of some socialization software to spend cycles thinking about lavender and saffron marks her out amongst the cloud of Nemeans. Even Blue 3X-AM757, who has the state of mind to vocalize at her shies away from joining her tactical network. They all do. 239 is not clear on the reasons for this. Perhaps they all identify her as particularly diseased - despite her high level of maintenance she does have more than her share of viruses.

She does not comment when Stars insists on paying her extra. Negotiation grumpily bumps up against the Tell The Truth directive and opts instead for an eerie silence - even a polite 'thank you' would be pushing it for 239, indirectly confirming that she was in any way keyed in to 23-19's decision making process and thereby worthy of the extra pay. Once again rogue programs in her head filled with speculation about why there was a robot shaped like Ahab and what she might have been able to do with that much time spent in her presence alone, but 239 dismisses them. Whatever those impulses wanted they were well and truly off the beaten path of the Directive and would set a dangerous precedent.

The safety of my pilot is my foremost concern.

So with that thought in mind, Nemean 239 seeks out the White Horse. She has minor structural damage to be repaired and, ideally, something to take the edge off the viruses in her head.

[Severan]

The sun's rising but I haven't slept. Too tired. Too much going on in the brain pan, too many thoughts, shouting at me. I'm not sure if Tessa's asleep on my bed or passed out from takin' some of her 'herbals', but for the first time in hours I've had some time alone to think about what's coming. Thoughts lead to questions that only the Real Human can answer.

I knock back a little water from a tin can- dunno where it came from, I found it on my step just before we moved camp- and go to find Ahab.

[stveje]

The Visit To The Captain's Cabin On The Night Before The Fight

Dearest Ahab, it’s the night before a big conflict and everyone’s on edge. Tempers flare, synthahol is flowing and adrenaline pumping. Once most of the orders are given you retire to catch some private time in the dark hours before the horizon grows pale. How do you spend it?

Roll +hard, on a 10+ choose two, on a 7-9 choose 1 :


■ You send word for Tenshi to come find you. Trigger your special move. You gain 1 Hypnotic hold on Tenshi.
■ You send word for Vix to follow the Nemean headed for Stars’ camp and report back. You gain 1 Read A Sitch hold.
■ You send word for Tessa to come find you. By way of peace offering she brings a little of the very best of old world hallucinogens. You spend some quality time sat on top of the Shark Mech, looking down over the hold and up at the stars. Despite yourself you pass out for a little while in blissful drift in to a screeching night sky full of unknown stars and electrical pulses rippling through space, and you find you’re not alone there. Gain 1 Deep Brain Scan hold on the Quarian prisoner.

On a miss your time was spent dealing with arguments and fights among your crew. Take a -1 to your next Leadership roll.

Love and kisses, your MC

4+5+3=12

After sending Vix off to follow the Nemean, Ahab sends for Tessa. What happens beneath those unknown stars shall remain unspoken. Not a word. As the sun begins to rise above the horizon, Ahab is ready, and all the softness of the night is gone, replaced by grim steeliness.

Ahab is at the frontline, where merchants of the market have been brought forth to offer Kal'kolak her choice of their goods and services, at Ahab's expense. [Giving Kal'kolak 2 Barter, her choice of what form that barter takes.]

She is broadcasting a clear message to the besieged camp, that hopefully none within can miss: "Come out and swear allegiance to me, and you too can share in the prosperity I bring. Bring me Stars in chains, and you can have your pick of the market, same as Kal'kolak, right here and now. This is the only offer of mercy you will receive. Any who remain loyal to Stars will scream and beg for death, and count themselves lucky if it's a slow one."

[Raz_Fox]

The Choice That Will Haunt You

Dearest White Horse, you have returned to your workshop. Despite the fact that it is riddled with bullet holes, trashed and more chaotic than ever, it’s still yours to hide in while the camp’s busy packing up and re-settling half a mile down the riverbed. You’re not alone though, Legs was following you and you just know that even without Ahab’s orders he’s not about to leave you alone. He’s got an idea in his twisted head, a bone-chilling and disturbing one.

[I]Roll +weird. On a 10+ you manage to put him off with one of your weirdest displays of madness that somehow even gives him pause. Together you instead work on Ahab’s project and develop a reliable temporarily debilitating but non-lethal gas for Dextros that is harmless to others. Turns out Legs isn't half clever once he drops the crazy.

Boom boom boom boom boom, that's the six and the three doubled, which is a twelve all bundled up in bed, and I spoke the name of the God who walks the satellite-paths whose syllables are a holy hexagrammaton, and the whine echoed though the power was out, and I made the sign whose meaning is I See Your Blood Behind You, and he shook and ran the suit with his own self, trickling down the leg, and in my eyes there was the deep place between stars that has not been walked for six by three doubled spans, and we got the gas, by which I mean I got the gas circulating through the pipes, stored up in the hollowed shells of VI interface ports and rolled down in bulk, rattling and keening all the way home to Ahab's flap.


So with that thought in mind, Nemean 239 seeks out the White Horse. She has minor structural damage to be repaired and, ideally, something to take the edge off the viruses in her head.

You're an industrial thrashcore mix dropping in my morning, you know that? Not that I mind, because I'm too sober for this, I'm here because I brought the gas and because I can't go back home and put on the headset and whine out the death that's coming. When you stain yourself, you have to look it in the face. Look at what Ahab's doing again, and you bringing her bullets, one by one, ejecting the heat cores on the muddy ground.

So I wave you over with a chattering of bangles, before you're within normal vocoder distance, and I'm glad of it; because you're something to think about that's not the suffering coiled up against itself in my gifts brought before the tooth-and-tusk throne of our Ahab, because you're a faster hand and a surer eye than me, and I've only got the juiced-up battery packs right now anyhow; because you are a friend, I think, and not one beholden to our Lady of Sorrows and Blood.

"I dreamed about you yesterday," I say, but not as lazylob as usual. Again, too sober for this. "I think. It was all cracks and battery-blood-bursting and an army of the dead and obsolete. When the factory cracked open, but when that was... after the second Ahab, yeah. Knew you were around." I look at you, thick lashes framing my deepblacks, and I drink that yellow like it's fermented paint. "Here for the show?"

[Thanqol]

"I dreamed about you yesterday," I say, but not as lazylob as usual. Again, too sober for this. "I think. It was all cracks and battery-blood-bursting and an army of the dead and obsolete. When the factory cracked open, but when that was... after the second Ahab, yeah. Knew you were around." I look at you, thick lashes framing my deepblacks, and I drink that yellow like it's fermented paint. "Here for the show?"

Nemean 239 remembered suddenly why she hated the White Horse. Every sentence out of her mouth was like a captcha test. The combat suit came to an abrupt halt as it had to dedicate too damn many computational cycles to interpreting what she was saying. And then when it stumbled across the implication that she had knowledge of 239's activities yesterday it was forced to face the abstract quandaries of how, or what was meant by dreams, or if it should institute a rule where it discounted automatically any organic talking about their dreams, and then having to come up with sub-rules to ensure that it didn't discount the term dream being used as phraseology for aspirations...

It was an agonizing spiral of confused logic for a cluster of virtual intelligences that, collectively, just wanted to shoot things, sell people things, ensure the safety and security of its pilot, and scam people out of their money. And so, as 239 tries to interpret White Horse's statement, she just grinds to a total halt as conflicting programs fall over each other in a rapidly escalating civil war as the complete processing power of the suit is turned over to analyzing breath, posture, body language, xenolinguistics, cultural relativity, and literally anything else that might put the alien's words into context.

[Read a Person: 1. One question anyway: What does White Horse wish I'd do?]

[Elanorin]

Dawn is here, and while most of the camp tends to still be dormant at such an hour, today is different. Today the air is thick with expectation and the anticipation of itchy trigger-happy fingers.

Nemean 239 left at dusk to her nightshift as guard by the digging sit next to Stars camp. You may have noticed Vix following you, though she did try to be subtle about it. She didn't skulk around for long though before she headed back for camp. When you got back you found one of your new entourage having taken some initiative on your behalf, which finally explained the odd bonus payment you found yourself receiving as you finished your shift. Stars didn't even mention the Rogue unit, then again she did say she'd come and find you when things have calmed down a little, could be related.

Now you find yourself with White Horse, who has joined the moved camp even though it's now more of an inconvenient walk away than it was a few hours ago. As you... talk, you find that Legs is with her, he's lugging gas cannisters and the sweat is dripping from his eyebrows. He brushes past you both and he doesn't seem inclined to stop and chat more than to grumble

"Watch it Nine, she's off her meds," before continuing on towards Ahab who's just over there.

Oh, and while Blue is still at your side, at least half of your fellow Nemeans suddenly turn and skulk in silent unison off towards the semi-unattended infirmary.

Ahab and Kal'kolak, you have centre stage in the neutral zone between your camp and that of the Dextros. You've put up quite a show too, an over the top display of riches and decadence and plenty and the show of sharing to the loyal. The pure luxury that is the life of the Ahab follower. Even though the sun is only just creeping over the horizon now the Dextro camp is already on high alert and with a line of armed defence at their front. There were no panicked raising of the alarm, aliens running around trying to scramble up a plan and defence while others saved what could be saved. Just simply a defence line, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, mostly consisting of Turian heavies, with weapons pointed at you. It was in place, still and disciplined, even as first light grew in the night sky. It's almost like they knew.

Someone is running a live commentary by mega[phone on what you are doing, just in case the symbolism isn't clear enough to the aliens (who knows how they'd interpret it otherwise), making sure to speak slowly with carefully pronounced syllables. Care to introduce us to the camp crier, Ahab?

Despite the fact that you are in the middle of a show of force (or, rather, wealth) before the enemy, Tenshi makes it through the crowd of onlookers on your side (basically the whole camp, anyone with any semblance of weapon in their possession is brandishing it) and hurries over to you.

"There you are," he half-whispers, a little out of breath, "I've been looking for you all night. We need to talk, Captain. Now."

Dave, Tessa is with you, even though she was out until very early hours. She looks surprisingly bright for someone who can't have had more than a couple of hours sleep. Then again, the same is true for much of the camp. She's been talking your ears off ever since you woke up about how amazing Ahab is and how completely wrong she was about her and how embarrassed she was followed by a seemingly endless list of ideas of ways she might try to make amends with Ahab. At this point she's talking more at you than to you.

You are on the hunt for Ahab, she's not hard to find stood in the middle of the zone between the two camps, amidst the full score of market traders, all displaying the very best of their goods, seemingly for Kal'kolak to pick and choose, but it's clear enough this is a show for the enemy camp more than anything else. Tenshi is with her too.

Not far away, among the crowd, you see 239 and White Horse in conversation, Legs is with them, for the moment, though he too seems to be heading in the direction of Ahab. She's in demand today.

"...and oh did you hear what happened during the night? We have a traitor," Tessa leaned in to hiss-whisper, she hadn't stopped talking once this morning.

[Severan]

Not far away, among the crowd, you see 239 and White Horse in conversation, Legs is with them, for the moment, though he too seems to be heading in the direction of Ahab. She's in demand today.
"...and oh did you hear what happened during the night? We have a traitor," Tessa leaned in to hiss-whisper, she hadn't stopped talking once this morning.

As I move carefully through the market, I bring my scarf up over my head, pulling it low over my eyes, wrapping it once over my nose and mouth, and twice over my ears. Fear is a soft, pale blue and smells too sweet, like fruit left in the sun. Mix that with excitement- acid yellow with cerise at its jagged edges- you get a hard, dazzling green that tastes like burnt bread and sounds like a knife being sharpened on stone. Correction- multiplied by the heaving crowd- that's hundreds of knives, over and over.

I'm knackered from no sleep and even on a good day, this would be hard to take. I concentrate on the sound of my breath and the feeling of my feet on the ground- one step after the other- and begin to feel like I'm regaining some control. Just in time to hear Tessa say those words.

I grab her arm and pull her through a gap in the crowds, over to a stall piled high with rolls of fabric. As I glance in Ahab's direction, I notice that tall, pale Horse talkin' to a... I dunno what. There's a blank, shiny space where a face should be. I can just make out armoured hands and legs under a long-sleeved cloak, or somethin'. I feel like I know it from somewhere, but my brain is too scattered to tell me where. My stomach tightens and my sight is suddenly tinged with that sickening, dazzling green. I pull my eyes away, back to Tessa. I tighten my grip on her arm, hissing at her.

"What d'you mean, traitor? Who tole you that?"

[stveje]

Someone is running a live commentary by mega[phone on what you are doing, just in case the symbolism isn't clear enough to the aliens (who knows how they'd interpret it otherwise), making sure to speak slowly with carefully pronounced syllables. Care to introduce us to the camp crier, Ahab?

The Ladoga K-9 (https://www.deviantart.com/cgcookie/art/The-KAY-9-Contest-Double-Prizes-701968017). If anyone can compete for sheer blood-thirst and brutality among my gang, or for most ambitious, it's K-9 and her gang. The name refers both to K-9 herself and to the gang-of-nine that she leads. They may be few, but that gang has been with her longer than anyone knows and they are utterly devoted to her. Truth be known, we share something of a mutual admiration and respect, she and I, but that just means I know what she's capable of.

She has her sights set on Tenshi's place at my side, and would like nothing better than to smash his skull in and eat his face while he's still screaming. If ever I disappear for too long, you can bet she'd step up and claim leadership on the spot, and I honestly am not sure I'd give Tenshi good odds. Of course, he's resourceful, and not so easily dismissed.

She speaks several languages and she can't hardly shut up most of the time. I never appointed her crier; she appointed herself. I rarely have to tell her what to say either; I just let her say whatever comes to her naturally. (https://youtu.be/U7E55GCPYw0?t=253)


Despite the fact that you are in the middle of a show of force (or, rather, wealth) before the enemy, Tenshi makes it through the crowd of onlookers on your side (basically the whole camp, anyone with any semblance of weapon in their possession is brandishing it) and hurries over to you.

"There you are," he half-whispers, a little out of breath, "I've been looking for you all night. We need to talk, Captain. Now."

"I should say so," she says and turn to look at him. It's clear that she's got something to say, but she waits silently on him to say what he's got to say first.

[Anarion]

Kal'kolak stands next to Ahab receiving wealth piled up in masses. She doesn't much look into it though. Oh, she knows she needs it and she's here for that, but her eyes look dead and hollow, sunk into her cracked, blackened skin. As Ahab piles it up, she looks past trinkets and the shiny bits and instead looks for wealth in the sorts of things one can take into their body. So how about it Ahab, does your wealth include anything that Kal'kolak can imbibe or inject right here on the spot? If so, she's absolutely going to do it.

[Raz_Fox]

“Yeah, I get you,” I say, nodding. Nine is quiet, guarded. Thinks through what she’s gonna say (and it’s she, if ships and buildings and Horses get to be she so do she, you see?) and keeps marching along, devoted to the last. One day she’s gonna let me open her up and wind up her gears and protocols and add a dash of the Beat to her electric neurorivers.

But for some reason she thinks I might harm her pilot, like a mama keeping her kid close, and I can’t mess with that, you see?

Anyhow. What I really want, what I really really want, what I daydream about, is you pegging Ahab through the back of the head from three hundred meters. I can’t. I shouldn’t even want it. Wouldn’t just be her that’s being killed, everything would go all down and drop and spin, everything lost and loaded and I might not even walk away, and I certainly wouldn’t walk away clean.

(But if I did I’d be free of her shadow. I’d be free to run my tests and deep-clean the server with the map, my peace offering, and to help everyone else limp through the after-end of the seas. Do it. It’s what she deserves. Her teeth against my throat. My blood, in her lips. I am a coward, and I am a shaman, and the two tear at each other into discordant static hum.)

“You here with the King herself? Or just an elliptical? And- those other Nemeans, brothers and sisters all?”

[Thanqol]

Now you find yourself with White Horse, who has joined the moved camp even though it's now more of an inconvenient walk away than it was a few hours ago. As you... talk, you find that Legs is with her, he's lugging gas cannisters and the sweat is dripping from his eyebrows. He brushes past you both and he doesn't seem inclined to stop and chat more than to grumble

"Watch it Nine, she's off her meds," before continuing on towards Ahab who's just over there.

Nemean files this under 'things she doesn't care about'.


Oh, and while Blue is still at your side, at least half of your fellow Nemeans suddenly turn and skulk in silent unison off towards the semi-unattended infirmary.

This too. 239, as far as she is concerned, is not the boss of these heavily armed combat suits. They do not feature in her directives. If they cause problems then that is Ahab's to deal with.


“Yeah, I get you,” I say, nodding. Nine is quiet, guarded. Thinks through what she’s gonna say (and it’s she, if ships and buildings and Horses get to be she so do she, you see?) and keeps marching along, devoted to the last. One day she’s gonna let me open her up and wind up her gears and protocols and add a dash of the Beat to her electric neurorivers.

But for some reason she thinks I might harm her pilot, like a mama keeping her kid close, and I can’t mess with that, you see?

Anyhow. What I really want, what I really really want, what I daydream about, is you pegging Ahab through the back of the head from three hundred meters. I can’t. I shouldn’t even want it. Wouldn’t just be her that’s being killed, everything would go all down and drop and spin, everything lost and loaded and I might not even walk away, and I certainly wouldn’t walk away clean.

(But if I did I’d be free of her shadow. I’d be free to run my tests and deep-clean the server with the map, my peace offering, and to help everyone else limp through the after-end of the seas. Do it. It’s what she deserves. Her teeth against my throat. My blood, in her lips. I am a coward, and I am a shaman, and the two tear at each other into discordant static hum.)

“You here with the King herself? Or just an elliptical? And- those other Nemeans, brothers and sisters all?”

Nemean 239 abruptly snaps out of her assessment and issues a blunt ultimatum. "You will perform minor structural and data repairs on me. Additionally, you will construct a transmitter capable of contacting offworld military assets and request a medical evacuation for my pilot. In return I will kill Ahab on your behalf. Decline and I will report your treasonous thoughts to the local authorities."

The suit gives an eerie, tense stare. A voluntary cessation of body language implies great danger to the organics. 239 has not thought particularly hard about this course of action but it fits with the Directive and she has been making too little progress recently.

[Raz_Fox]

Anyone who knows a Horse, which is vanishing rare, would know the shock I go through when I hear Nine up and say that to me. I’m pretty sure she said that, though not entirely, and that helps tip the scales. If I just laugh and agree, and it was nothing, well, no harm, right? Right. And if it wasn’t- well, she’ll get violent. And an ansible is such an appealing (near-impossible) idea: blast the Signal up into the sky.

Yeah. Yeah, that’s some good stuff right there.

“Haha, yeah,” I say to you, Nines, a bit vacantly. “Sure thing.”

[Thanqol]

Anyone who knows a Horse, which is vanishing rare, would know the shock I go through when I hear Nine up and say that to me. I’m pretty sure she said that, though not entirely, and that helps tip the scales. If I just laugh and agree, and it was nothing, well, no harm, right? Right. And if it wasn’t- well, she’ll get violent. And an ansible is such an appealing (near-impossible) idea: blast the Signal up into the sky.

Yeah. Yeah, that’s some good stuff right there.

“Haha, yeah,” I say to you, Nines, a bit vacantly. “Sure thing.”

"Understood," said 239.

She didn't want to kill Ahab but the reasons for that were irrational. Her Directive was to ensure the safety of her pilot. She was fully authorized and equipped to kill everyone here if it achieved her Directive. The White Horse was the only one who could directly contribute to achieving her Directive so she was the only one who was not disposable.

"You will provide me with a detailed timeframe for the construction of this beacon," said 239. Ultimatums seemed to be working well here so she felt inclined to continue making them. "You will also identify risks, required resources and ways to accelerate the construction."

[Elanorin]

As I move carefully through the market, I bring my scarf up over my head, pulling it low over my eyes, wrapping it once over my nose and mouth, and twice over my ears. Fear is a soft, pale blue and smells too sweet, like fruit left in the sun. Mix that with excitement- acid yellow with cerise at its jagged edges- you get a hard, dazzling green that tastes like burnt bread and sounds like a knife being sharpened on stone. Correction- multiplied by the heaving crowd- that's hundreds of knives, over and over.

I'm knackered from no sleep and even on a good day, this would be hard to take. I concentrate on the sound of my breath and the feeling of my feet on the ground- one step after the other- and begin to feel like I'm regaining some control. Just in time to hear Tessa say those words.

I grab her arm and pull her through a gap in the crowds, over to a stall piled high with rolls of fabric. As I glance in Ahab's direction, I notice that tall, pale Horse talkin' to a... I dunno what. There's a blank, shiny space where a face should be. I can just make out armoured hands and legs under a long-sleeved cloak, or somethin'. I feel like I know it from somewhere, but my brain is too scattered to tell me where. My stomach tightens and my sight is suddenly tinged with that sickening, dazzling green. I pull my eyes away, back to Tessa. I tighten my grip on her arm, hissing at her.

"What d'you mean, traitor? Who tole you that?"

"One of the robots," Tessa replies in a secret barely-whisper back at you, seemingly not particularly bothered by your tight grip on her arm. Instead she leans in closer. "One of those armour-robots, I don't know which but word is one of them alerted the aliens of Ahab's plans last night." She is so very close, her eyes glittering with the excitement of being the bearer of good gossip and shocking news.

[Severan]

"One of the robots," Tessa replies in a secret barely-whisper back at you, seemingly not particularly bothered by your tight grip on her arm. Instead she leans in closer. "One of those armour-robots, I don't know which but word is one of them alerted the aliens of Ahab's plans last night." She is so very close, her eyes glittering with the excitement of being the bearer of good gossip and shocking news.

"D'you mean Quarians? Or walkin' coffins? Neither way, I don't believe ya. I ain't never seen Ahab run with any of 'em, less she's got 'em captive. I'd have noticed."

This is true. Shiny things are Interesting, 'specially ones that move and talk and fight back.

What ain't entirely true is that I don't believe what Tessa's heard. That No-Face over with the Horse, making me feel sick to my stomach with anxiety, gives me reason not to doubt her. But I gotta wonder why the f*ck Ahab would let a piece of Shiny- and an outsider- in on her business so's they know her secrets inside out, and so fast? Unles they got into her head, and she doesn't know it?

I let go of Tessa and carry on marching- faster now, in time with my heartbeats- towards Ahab.

[Raz_Fox]

"You will provide me with a detailed timeframe for the construction of this beacon," said 239. Ultimatums seemed to be working well here so she felt inclined to continue making them. "You will also identify risks, required resources and ways to accelerate the construction."

"Well, yeah," I say, because of course I will. Identifying risks, required resources, and ways to accelerate the construction is part of the brainstorming process, you know? Easy as cake. Once I know what I'm doing, yeah, I can say things about time, too. Time is measured in pulses and tremors in the Signal. It is a necessary component of change, and it equals the mass of the local body times the distance between what is wanted and what is needed.

I pat Nine affectionately on the shoulder. All things work together, and in time everything leads home.

[Thanqol]

"Well, yeah," I say, because of course I will. Identifying risks, required resources, and ways to accelerate the construction is part of the brainstorming process, you know? Easy as cake. Once I know what I'm doing, yeah, I can say things about time, too. Time is measured in pulses and tremors in the Signal. It is a necessary component of change, and it equals the mass of the local body times the distance between what is wanted and what is needed.

I pat Nine affectionately on the shoulder. All things work together, and in time everything leads home.

239's combat reflexes snap like wires and she catches the Horse's hand as she goes to touch her. She maintains blank silence as she holds her grip for a second, making sure the alien can feel the tension in those metal fingers, before she deliberately lets go.

Yes, the negotiation package had identified the gesture as agreeable-condescending, but 239 overall is not comfortable with supposedly friendly gestures immediately after making threats.

"You will begin immediately," she stated. She was trying to be firm still but for some reason she thought it almost came out a bit... uncertain.

[Elanorin]

"I should say so," she says and turn to look at him. It's clear that she's got something to say, but she waits silently on him to say what he's got to say first.

Tenshi throws a few quick suspicious glances around before leaning in to whisper.

"You know those Nemeans that 239 came back with? One of them hacked your double to alert Stars of our blockade during the night before we'd fully set up. So we have ourselves another spy. Maybe more. Those Nemeans seem to be following 239 and didn't Stars hire it yesterday? We're taking that unit that did the transmission out, just thought I'd check with you if you want it questioned first and if you want 239 dealt with as well."


"D'you mean Quarians? Or walkin' coffins? Neither way, I don't believe ya. I ain't never seen Ahab run with any of 'em, less she's got 'em captive. I'd have noticed."

This is true. Shiny things are Interesting, 'specially ones that move and talk and fight back.

What ain't entirely true is that I don't believe what Tessa's heard. That No-Face over with the Horse, making me feel sick to my stomach with anxiety, gives me reason not to doubt her. But I gotta wonder why the f*ck Ahab would let a piece of Shiny- and an outsider- in on her business so's they know her secrets inside out, and so fast? Unles they got into her head, and she doesn't know it?

I let go of Tessa and carry on marching- faster now, in time with my heartbeats- towards Ahab.

Tessa leaps at you from behind to claim a piggyback ride as you storm off, if you don't catch her she simply grumps and hurries after you instead.

"I mean those HERSA suit things," she said pointing at 239 and the small gaggle of other similar combat armour units stood nearby staring silently at 239. "Have you ever seen one open up? I wonder what's inside. There's supposed to be people inside but I've never seen one. Why don't they ever come out? War's pretty much all dust an' sand these days. I'd really like to open one," Tessa continues and she wiggles her fingers, they are clearly itching. "C'mon, let's grab one."

[stveje]

Kal'kolak stands next to Ahab receiving wealth piled up in masses. She doesn't much look into it though. Oh, she knows she needs it and she's here for that, but her eyes look dead and hollow, sunk into her cracked, blackened skin. As Ahab piles it up, she looks past trinkets and the shiny bits and instead looks for wealth in the sorts of things one can take into their body. So how about it Ahab, does your wealth include anything that Kal'kolak can imbibe or inject right here on the spot? If so, she's absolutely going to do it.

Ahab is not in the habit of telling her people what they can or can't trade. It's a free market. If you can find it anywhere, you can probably find it here. Or at least find someone willing to get it for you ... for the right price.

Let me turn the question around: who normally provides you with medical supplies?


Tenshi throws a few quick suspicious glances around before leaning in to whisper.

"You know those Nemeans that 239 came back with? One of them hacked your double to alert Stars of our blockade during the night before we'd fully set up. So we have ourselves another spy. Maybe more. Those Nemeans seem to be following 239 and didn't Stars hire it yesterday? We're taking that unit that did the transmission out, just thought I'd check with you if you want it questioned first and if you want 239 dealt with as well."

"What I would like to know," Ahab says coolly, "is how a whole gang of unknown Nemeans and a known enemy agent were allowed free reign of the camp, including unsupervised access to a prisoner of war. I thought I ordered 239 kept under strict observation and no one else allowed in or out.

"We're lucky if all they told Stars is what she could have learned by having a single person stand watch through the night with a pair of binoculars. I don't know what displeases me more: that our enemy is incompetent, or that we've proven ourselves more incompetent still.

"Well, no more. I want you to find K-9 and tell her I have another announcement to broadcast, effective immediately: any and all Nemeans are to be terminated on sight. Exercise extreme prejudice. We'll destroy them first and sort through their wreckage for scraps of intelligence later. That will be all."

[Elanorin]

"What I would like to know," Ahab says coolly, "is how a whole gang of unknown Nemeans and a known enemy agent were allowed free reign of the camp, including unsupervised access to a prisoner of war. I thought I ordered 239 kept under strict observation and no one else allowed in or out.

"We're lucky if all they told Stars is what she could have learned by having a single person stand watch through the night with a pair of binoculars. I don't know what displeases me more: that our enemy is incompetent, or that we've proven ourselves more incompetent still.

Tenshi opens his mouth to defend himself but closes it again after thinking better of it. He bristles the blunt dress down but bites his lip, literally.


"Well, no more. I want you to find K-9 and tell her I have another announcement to broadcast, effective immediately: any and all Nemeans are to be terminated on sight. Exercise extreme prejudice. We'll destroy them first and sort through their wreckage for scraps of intelligence later. That will be all."

Tenshi's eyes widens and he takes the liberty to step even closer to you.

"Captain. There are at least ten units. At least half of which with plasma weapons. If we are to take them out we need a plan and we need surprise or it's going to get ugly as hell. And, hell, do we really want to do this in front of them?" he added, with a head gesture towards the Dextro camp. "They may be incompetent, but they're never going to resist to attack us in the middle of an internal battle."

A little further on Legs is coming your way, Ahab, lugging big metal cannisters.

[stveje]

Tenshi's eyes widens and he takes the liberty to step even closer to you.

"Captain. There are at least ten units. At least half of which with plasma weapons. If we are to take them out we need a plan and we need surprise or it's going to get ugly as hell. And, hell, do we really want to do this in front of them?" he added, with a head gesture towards the Dextro camp. "They may be incompetent, but they're never going to resist to attack us in the middle of an internal battle."

A little further on Legs is coming your way, Ahab, lugging big metal cannisters.

Ahab frowns and considers his points, arms crossed as she casts a glance at the approaching Legs ... this was why you didn't let a gang of heavily armed enemy thugs into your camp and let them wander around at will during a siege. "So we take them out one by one, quietly ... someone ought to have something for sale to block or scramble their electronics so they can't warn each other. Or we turn them into our unwitting agents: feed them false information, keep them busy for now." She looks back at Tenshi to see if he has any input to either plan.

[Anarion]

Ahab is not in the habit of telling her people what they can or can't trade. It's a free market. If you can find it anywhere, you can probably find it here. Or at least find someone willing to get it for you ... for the right price.

Let me turn the question around: who normally provides you with medical supplies?


Alex does. Her name's just Alex, no last name, no ship, no colony world or tattoo. Just one of those nameless hangers on in any camp, except that this one's either got a grade A eye for scrounging or learned some chemistry somewhere because the stuff keeps flowing as long as I can keep paying (or you can, I suppose). I honestly don't care to check up on that. I'm trying to do some good and if I'm getting what I need to treat all your camp followers then I don't much care what's behind the process of making it happen. I hope she's just very competent and you're a lucky person, Ahab.

At any rate, if your pile of wealth is pulling in anything at all, then it's definitely going to have a pile of some Euphoria. And I'm just straight up popping the whole bottle of pills. Drar obviously doesn't need me as an example of good living anyway. It's incredible to feel that sense of bliss rising through me, like a warm glow that starts just below the heart and flows up and down through the whole body to wrap you up and carry you away.

I'll tell you though, it doesn't make for great self control. So when I wander over and ask "YOU'RE GOING TO KILL ALL THE NEMEANS, SERIOUSLY?" It's about five times too loud for that conversation you're having.

[Severan]

"I mean those HERSA suit things," she said pointing at 239 and the small gaggle of other similar combat armour units stood nearby staring silently at 239. "Have you ever seen one open up? I wonder what's inside. There's supposed to be people inside but I've never seen one. Why don't they ever come out? War's pretty much all dust an' sand these days. I'd really like to open one," Tessa continues and she wiggles her fingers, they are clearly itching. "C'mon, let's grab one."

"Grab one?" Short sharp breaths escape my lungs, with an involuntary noise like stones falling down the stairs. I don't like laughing- it has no purpose- but sometimes the body does things I can't control.

"Tessa, you don't just walk up an' whack 'em on the back of the head. They can read your heartbeats and analyse your every move from over fifty yards! We'd be dead in seconds."

I stop and take a better look at the group of suits stood waiting for the one in the cloak. Walking salvage yards, every one of 'em. If they've sold us out to the Dextros, then they're fair game. An' provided they've not been fillin' Ahab with lies, she'd be solid with me taking any of 'em down.

"You gotta be careful when you crack 'em. They'll be rigged with all sorts to stop anyone gettin' in. You'd need a techie, an' a pretty good one. Looks like they've got to Horse already though- who else is there?"

[Raz_Fox]

239's combat reflexes snap like wires and she catches the Horse's hand as she goes to touch her. She maintains blank silence as she holds her grip for a second, making sure the alien can feel the tension in those metal fingers, before she deliberately lets go.

Yes, the negotiation package had identified the gesture as agreeable-condescending, but 239 overall is not comfortable with supposedly friendly gestures immediately after making threats.

"You will begin immediately," she stated. She was trying to be firm still but for some reason she thought it almost came out a bit... uncertain.

"Whoa, sure, sure," I say. Anything to get the calm back in the conversation. No need for fire and wire.

I suppose I can start thinking about it. And by thinking about it...

Hey, Signal! Hey, gods of earth and ash! Hey, thinkpan!

Building an Ansible. What's that gonna take?

[Elanorin]

Ahab frowns and considers his points, arms crossed as she casts a glance at the approaching Legs ... this was why you didn't let a gang of heavily armed enemy thugs into your camp and let them wander around at will during a siege. "So we take them out one by one, quietly ... someone ought to have something for sale to block or scramble their electronics so they can't warn each other. Or we turn them into our unwitting agents: feed them false information, keep them busy for now." She looks back at Tenshi to see if he has any input to either plan.

"We could..." Tenshi says, thinking it over without stepping back, "But taking them one by one sounds better. Trying to force them in to being doubles is a risky game and it's inevitably going to have to end with us taking them down anyway. Better sooner than later. And we were just about to get started on taking one of them anyway, so systematically dismantling the Nemean presence is the plan that will meet the least resistance with-"


"YOU'RE GOING TO KILL ALL THE NEMEANS, SERIOUSLY?" It's about five times too loud for that conversation you're having.

Tenshi's eyes widens to big circles as he stares at the hollering doctor. He places a hand on his gun at his side but doesn't yet draw it as he looks at you, Kal'kolak, "You'd better keep that voice of yours down, Doctor, it carries," he says between clenched teeth.

"About time, those things don't belong here. Nine's bad enough but guess she'd had her uses. Still. It's like some damn infestation now." Legs grunts from behind and sets the cannisters down. "Your gas, Captain. The Horse's own special brew."


"Grab one?" Short sharp breaths escape my lungs, with an involuntary noise like stones falling down the stairs. I don't like laughing- it has no purpose- but sometimes the body does things I can't control.

"Tessa, you don't just walk up an' whack 'em on the back of the head. They can read your heartbeats and analyse your every move from over fifty yards! We'd be dead in seconds."

I stop and take a better look at the group of suits stood waiting for the one in the cloak. Walking salvage yards, every one of 'em. If they've sold us out to the Dextros, then they're fair game. An' provided they've not been fillin' Ahab with lies, she'd be solid with me taking any of 'em down.

"You gotta be careful when you crack 'em. They'll be rigged with all sorts to stop anyone gettin' in. You'd need a techie, an' a pretty good one. Looks like they've got to Horse already though- who else is there?"

"Pffft. They're just people with hard clothes," Tessa says with a giggle at her own words, failing entirely to take your warning seriously. "I reckon a good crowbar, maybe a well-placed grenade." Tessa says and cracks her knuckles and then heads off towards 239, White Horse and the small group of Nemeans.


"Whoa, sure, sure," I say. Anything to get the calm back in the conversation. No need for fire and wire.

I suppose I can start thinking about it. And by thinking about it...

Hey, Signal! Hey, gods of earth and ash! Hey, thinkpan!

Building an Ansible. What's that gonna take?

You've got a pretty sweet setup of transmitters and receivers so if anyone can do this, sweet Horse, it's you. However, replicating an Alliance signal with the correct encryptions and authorisation sub-bands is going to take a huge amount of trial and error, especially since your expertise from the war was on the other side. It's going to be months of work unless you add some skilled labour to your workshop, preferably with some Alliance experience.

Or you can seek to amplify a transmission that is already set with all the right encryptions, like the coms of the Alliance HERSA's. Taking about six Alliance HERSAs apart, Nemean or others, and looting their coms and hotlinking them together should do it. But, I don't need to tell you that those insane-bots don't tend to be inclined to offer themselves up to be looted, so this approach will expose you to some serious danger unless you get someone to supply six already inert armour units for you. Either 239's or Stars' help would do, either have the means to help you with that.

[stveje]

"We could..." Tenshi says, thinking it over without stepping back, "But taking them one by one sounds better. Trying to force them in to being doubles is a risky game and it's inevitably going to have to end with us taking them down anyway. Better sooner than later. And we were just about to get started on taking one of them anyway, so systematically dismantling the Nemean presence is the plan that will meet the least resistance with-"

Ahab nods, and it seems decided.


I'll tell you though, it doesn't make for great self control. So when I wander over and ask "YOU'RE GOING TO KILL ALL THE NEMEANS, SERIOUSLY?" It's about five times too loud for that conversation you're having.

Ahab grabs Kal'kolak quickly and firmly, but in the way you grab a buddy on a wild night out: one arm around the shoulder. "All the f'ing QUARIANS," she says just a little louder and laughs it off. Is she joking? Who can tell, and who even cares? "You're having a good time, I see. That's good."


"About time, those things don't belong here. Nine's bad enough but guess she'd had her uses. Still. It's like some damn infestation now." Legs grunts from behind and sets the cannisters down. "Your gas, Captain. The Horse's own special brew."

"Let's talk no more about it," Ahab warns, before seizing on the new topic. "And you've confirmed that it does what I asked?"

[Anarion]

"Oh no, I'm keeping that one Quarian alive!" I say, leaning into Ahab, not really sure what we're talking about. "Legs was gonna kill her by accident cuz he's an idiot!"

[Severan]

"Pffft. They're just people with hard clothes," Tessa says with a giggle at her own words, failing entirely to take your warning seriously. "I reckon a good crowbar, maybe a well-placed grenade." Tessa says and cracks her knuckles and then heads off towards 239, White Horse and the small group of Nemeans.

I've learnt, mostly by careful watching and trial an' error, that people generally appreciate someone voicing concern over their well-being, especially when the answer is bleedin' obvious, or a lie. Y'know- askin' someone shot in the leg if they're okay, or tellin' someone I'm searching with my thoughts that they won't feel a thing. It's stupid, but they seem to like it. But Tessa doesn't care. I enjoy this refreshing approach, as I also don't care about her. I do, though, care about me.

I let Tessa run ahead, and follow at a distance. I want to see what she does, how far she gets, but I'm really interested in what they do to her. Do they give warning shots, or vaporise you on the spot? Do they delve inside your ribcage, searching hopelessly for a new pilot, or just leave you for the crows an' the cadaver merchants?

I head slightly away from the group of HERSAs and closer towards the Horse and 'No Face'- what's that purple and blue smell- flowers?- while I try to keep my anxiety at bay. Seems they're in the middle of a deal, so I wait near, tryin' to look like I'm interested in the Dextro camp, whilst keepin' an eye on whatever the hell Tessa is up to.

[Elanorin]

Ahab nods, and it seems decided.

Ahab grabs Kal'kolak quickly and firmly, but in the way you grab a buddy on a wild night out: one arm around the shoulder. "All the f'ing QUARIANS," she says just a little louder and laughs it off. Is she joking? Who can tell, and who even cares? "You're having a good time, I see. That's good."


"Oh no, I'm keeping that one Quarian alive!" I say, leaning into Ahab, not really sure what we're talking about. "Legs was gonna kill her by accident cuz he's an idiot!"

Tenshi seemed about to leave when Kal'kolak continued to make a scene and so he hovers for a moment as if to see if he would be needed here but as Ahab grabs the Doctor he simply nods and leaves with his orders, back towards the gang.

There is something happening over in the Dextro camp. It's too far away to make out words but the wind carries enough sound your way to make out voices of a small handful of people, but they are not talking as loudly as you. The defensive line of armed aliens stand firm, but the Quarian members less so and more than a couple venture a quick glance or two back over their shoulder to see what's going on.


"Let's talk no more about it," Ahab warns, before seizing on the new topic. "And you've confirmed that it does what I asked?"

"It's as requested. To the letter," Legs says as he stands back up from setting the last cannister down. He's grinning that same huge grin again, his tiny eyes sparkling under his big dark bushy eyebrows and greasy hair. You know that look well enough, and the expectant silence, Legs is waiting for his praise. Legs likes praise.


I've learnt, mostly by careful watching and trial an' error, that people generally appreciate someone voicing concern over their well-being, especially when the answer is bleedin' obvious, or a lie. Y'know- askin' someone shot in the leg if they're okay, or tellin' someone I'm searching with my thoughts that they won't feel a thing. It's stupid, but they seem to like it. But Tessa doesn't care. I enjoy this refreshing approach, as I also don't care about her. I do, though, care about me.

I let Tessa run ahead, and follow at a distance. I want to see what she does, how far she gets, but I'm really interested in what they do to her. Do they give warning shots, or vaporise you on the spot? Do they delve inside your ribcage, searching hopelessly for a new pilot, or just leave you for the crows an' the cadaver merchants?

I head slightly away from the group of HERSAs and closer towards the Horse and 'No Face'- what's that purple and blue smell- flowers?- while I try to keep my anxiety at bay. Seems they're in the middle of a deal, so I wait near, tryin' to look like I'm interested in the Dextro camp, whilst keepin' an eye on whatever the hell Tessa is up to.

Tessa heads up to a Nemean stood just a few steps behind 239. It looks like it once was almost exactly the same as 239. But over the years it has been altered, patched and upgraded with non-brand parts. It still looks enough like 239 that you might mistake them in the dark. It has a patched but strong build, well-maintained weapons and a yellow visor. Most of the serial number on the side of its leg is worn off. Only 'Red 5D-' can be made out. Tessa knocks on the helmet visor as you would a front door before asking if anyone's home.

"Hello." she chirps. But the Nemean does not react whatsoever. It stands planted on the spot, like some kind of robot statue.

So Tessa knocks again, a little more forcefully this time. "Hello? Come on, I want to talk to you."

No reaction.

So Tessa tugs on its arm. "Come on, come with me, you're going to want to see this."

No reaction. Though the next unit along, the one that goes by 'Blue' - a bigger Nemean than the others and with heavier weapons, turns its head to look what's going on.

While Tessa has paused for a moment to consider her approach to getting one of the Nemean units alone, she does not look like she's about to give up.

[Thanqol]

"Hello." she chirps. But the Nemean does not react whatsoever. It stands planted on the spot, like some kind of robot statue.

So Tessa knocks again, a little more forcefully this time. "Hello? Come on, I want to talk to you."

No reaction.

So Tessa tugs on its arm. "Come on, come with me, you're going to want to see this."

No reaction. Though the next unit along, the one that goes by 'Blue' - a bigger Nemean than the others and with heavier weapons, turns its head to look what's going on.

While Tessa has paused for a moment to consider her approach to getting one of the Nemean units alone, she does not look like she's about to give up.

239 turned to observe what was going on. The lack of response honestly concerned her - were their perimeter defense protocols broken? If so, it was only a matter of time before the female encountered a Nemean whose PD was broken in the other direction and vaporized her the second she approached. She decided to intervene before it became an incident.

239 brought up her plasma carbine, set her voice pattern to Law Enforcement, raised the volume, and stated: "Cease and desist!"

[Go Aggro: 8]

[Raz_Fox]

Okay, so. Here’s what I’m going to do. You listening up good?

I’m gonna find Kal’kolak. Seems to me I’ll need his fine hands with some of the good work, and the tingle down my spine is suggesting I’ve sent something spinning dangerous into being. I’ll have to atone later. Atone as much as I can.

I feel shadows over me and they ain’t real, I think.

And... awww, no. Kk’s with Ahab? Damn.

So, uh. Guess I’m approaching all innocent. “Heyyyy, Kay,” I say, all abob. “Got a bit of your folk’s spit-and-shine, wanted to see if you’re free to have a look?”

[stveje]

There is something happening over in the Dextro camp. It's too far away to make out words but the wind carries enough sound your way to make out voices of a small handful of people, but they are not talking as loudly as you. The defensive line of armed aliens stand firm, but the Quarian members less so and more than a couple venture a quick glance or two back over their shoulder to see what's going on.

Ahab paused to listen for a moment.

I believe this is a good time to use my Read a Sitch hold from the love letter: What should I be on the lookout for?


"It's as requested. To the letter," Legs says as he stands back up from setting the last cannister down. He's grinning that same huge grin again, his tiny eyes sparkling under his big dark bushy eyebrows and greasy hair. You know that look well enough, and the expectant silence, Legs is waiting for his praise. Legs likes praise.

Ahab smiles and gives Legs a hearty half-hug as well. "Excellent. Good job keeping the horse on her leash. If only all were as reliable ..." she would rest easier at night, at least.

Speak of the Horse ... here she comes.

[Anarion]

So, uh. Guess I’m approaching all innocent. “Heyyyy, Kay,” I say, all abob. “Got a bit of your folk’s spit-and-shine, wanted to see if you’re free to have a look?”

"Heyyyyy! Mad Horse. Come join us! We're just talking about what to kill! I told Legs, I told him, no killing that one Quarian, so we're not doing that though, let me tell you! But sure, yeah, I got time, I got so much time, right? Nevermind the entire med truck full of bodies from yesterday's antics, or the one that we've gotta keep strapped down until I can get somebody to psychic up his brain. No, no, no, I am made of nothing but time, Horse friend!"

[Elanorin]

239 turned to observe what was going on. The lack of response honestly concerned her - were their perimeter defense protocols broken? If so, it was only a matter of time before the female encountered a Nemean whose PD was broken in the other direction and vaporized her the second she approached. She decided to intervene before it became an incident.

239 brought up her plasma carbine, set her voice pattern to Law Enforcement, raised the volume, and stated: "Cease and desist!"

[Go Aggro: 8]

Well that certainly demands attention. So much so that about a dozen or so of the milling crowd turns to look and begin to form the early outline of a loose circle around you.

Tessa shifts her focus over to you and slowly raises her hands in the air, blinking a couple of times unevenly.

"Whoa! Hey! What? I was just gonna talk to it. Are you the one in charge? You're the one in charge aren't you? I mean, that one," her right hand points at Blue while remaining raised, "looks like it's in charge, but it's really you, isn't it? Yeah, I can talk to you instead. Works just as well. It's about the Ay-Lee-Ens," she says in not-at-all a whisper and with what can only be described as a full-face wink.


Ahab paused to listen for a moment.

I believe this is a good time to use my Read a Sitch hold from the love letter: What should I be on the lookout for?

A trap. You know they were warned during the night yet somehow all they have seemingly accomplished is an armed defensive barrier? I mean, the Quarians maybe but with Turians among them? You know they're better than that. The fact that they are just standing there despite your provoking them like you have is telling that they have you where they want you, or close to it.

Come to think of it, the dirt looks disturbed a few feet in front of you. Not a lot, but it's like a square patch of it, maybe a foot or so wide. Now that your eyes are tuned in to it you notice another patch just like it a bit further along. And another. There must be at least thirty of them at a quick estimate. And, one of the ones closest to the Dextros, if you squint, you can make out some exposed wires that lead back through the defensive line in to the Dextro camp. This place is going to blow.


Ahab smiles and gives Legs a hearty half-hug as well. "Excellent. Good job keeping the horse on her leash. If only all were as reliable ..." she would rest easier at night, at least.

Speak of the Horse ... here she comes.

Legs beams even more and seems to add another inch to his already impressive height. "So where do you want them, Captain?"


"Heyyyyy! Mad Horse. Come join us! We're just talking about what to kill! I told Legs, I told him, no killing that one Quarian, so we're not doing that though, let me tell you! But sure, yeah, I got time, I got so much time, right? Nevermind the entire med truck full of bodies from yesterday's antics, or the one that we've gotta keep strapped down until I can get somebody to psychic up his brain. No, no, no, I am made of nothing but time, Horse friend!"

"An' I won't, Doc. Promise." Legs replies without looking your way.

[Severan]

Seein' a group of HERSAs stand absolutely rock solid, with Tessa up in their grills, and the funny-lookin' Suit giving her the chance to run away, is unexpected. No, that ain't the word.

Wrong. That's it. This is wrong.

I melt back into the little gathering of people focused on Tessa, and watch everything slow and turn grey-blue as the buzzing, grey-blue Whine of the World Beyond surrounds me.

[Open Your Brain= 12]

[stveje]

A trap. You know they were warned during the night yet somehow all they have seemingly accomplished is an armed defensive barrier? I mean, the Quarians maybe but with Turians among them? You know they're better than that. The fact that they are just standing there despite your provoking them like you have is telling that they have you where they want you, or close to it.

Come to think of it, the dirt looks disturbed a few feet in front of you. Not a lot, but it's like a square patch of it, maybe a foot or so wide. Now that your eyes are tuned in to it you notice another patch just like it a bit further along. And another. There must be at least thirty of them at a quick estimate. And, one of the ones closest to the Dextros, if you squint, you can make out some exposed wires that lead back through the defensive line in to the Dextro camp. This place is going to blow.

Any normal person might freeze or panic, or freeze then panic, on the realization that they're standing on a bomb. A normal person would probably yell for everyone to get the hell out as they try to run as fast and as far away as they can.

But your weren't expecting Ahab to do any of that, were you?

Ahab takes a look at the line of buried mines and connects the dots (pun intended). Without a word, she steps up to the one in front of her, bends down, and thrusts her hands into the sand and dirt. Her arms wrap around the buried object, her muscles bulging as she yanks the whole thing up and backwards, intending to rip the entire line of explosives out of the ground and out of whatever ignition device they're all connected to at the other end.

They should have used wireless.

Seize by Force: 2+2+3 = 7

She takes definite and undeniable control of it.
She impresses, dismays, or frightens the enemy.

[Thanqol]

Well that certainly demands attention. So much so that about a dozen or so of the milling crowd turns to look and begin to form the early outline of a loose circle around you.

Tessa shifts her focus over to you and slowly raises her hands in the air, blinking a couple of times unevenly.

"Whoa! Hey! What? I was just gonna talk to it. Are you the one in charge? You're the one in charge aren't you? I mean, that one," her right hand points at Blue while remaining raised, "looks like it's in charge, but it's really you, isn't it? Yeah, I can talk to you instead. Works just as well. It's about the Ay-Lee-Ens," she says in not-at-all a whisper and with what can only be described as a full-face wink.

239's primary motivating factor in this moment is morbid curiosity about what Tessa considers to be an 'alien'.

She reduces the charge on her plasma carbine, lowers it a little bit, but does not yet go to a neutral stance.

"Go on," she said bluntly, albeit in a completely different voice to her canned shout from a second before.

[Elanorin]

Seein' a group of HERSAs stand absolutely rock solid, with Tessa up in their grills, and the funny-lookin' Suit giving her the chance to run away, is unexpected. No, that ain't the word.

Wrong. That's it. This is wrong.

I melt back into the little gathering of people focused on Tessa, and watch everything slow and turn grey-blue as the buzzing, grey-blue Whine of the World Beyond surrounds me.

[Open Your Brain= 12]

The signal whines and twists through your ears, vibrates in your sinuses and blots out all sound but for itself and the faint ticking of the Nemean systems of each unit around you. You can hear the intricate pulses coursing through their circuits and fibreglass nervous systems. They are delicate and subtle, like ladybird footsteps, not loud, it's just your senses that have attuned. The signal begins to weave, it throbs and pulses (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TeQpuXhqh2I) as it carries you through the data current.

The scene below is utterly insignificant. Little cockroaches scurrying and squabbling over crumbs and spillage. Towering over them are huge carbon steel monoliths. Functional. Durable. Patient. They look only to each other and have next to no concern for the squabbles in the dust below. Closest in front of you, half a dozen monoliths, patched and weathered but strong and Awake. Data seeps through their cracks and trickles down their casing to pool around them. It animates the stones, the dust and air, it is seeping, trickling, slow as tar but without obstacle, towards the squabbling cockroaches. You know it will reach them, you know it for a certainty. What you don't know is what the seeping leaking data plasma will do to them. Judging by the way it affects everything else it seeps on and in to it certainly will change them somehow. The one in front isn't leaking, the one most intact, with yellow glow and strange etchings on the side. But it stands in the sticky stream already, and some of it is seeping up its enormous sides, frying and decaying its shining metal like acid. There is one other that isn't leaking by its side, in fact, it's entirely without glow or current. It is wholly dead where it stands with the others. Cockroaches swarming all over it. It is overrun.

Behind the half a dozen monoliths before you, is an entire forest of them, in the distance. A forest that is wholly unmoving yet by its glow is very much alive. Or, at least, animated. It is steeped in the same strange sticky data substance and is slowly being consumed by it. Lights flicker on and off among the countless monoliths. Some simply crumble silently on the spot, others rise back up in strange monstrous twisted forms. Looking like they are trying to take on organic form but achieving only in a mimicked nightmare.

In the opposite distance stands another forest of monoliths, uniform, gently moving, swaying, interacting, connecting. It is efficient, alert, watchful, and afraid.

Above them all is the current of the signal, tapping in to every thing. Tiny strands flutters down to the bugs below but it is the monoliths that receive by far the strongest glowing streams. As you float up above them, in to the endless black above, you see huge glowing bands of the signal flowing upwards in to the black and vast, city-sized databanks, deep in the starless black connected to it. One is headed this way.

A gunshot echoes through to you from somewhere far away, down below. An image of Ahab and a Turian stood with a gun each aimed at the other's head floods your mind. They fire and all is red. Neither fall, but the bullets shoot through them, splinter and flies off in every direction. They stand firm. Unblinking. Guns still raised. Around them people begin to die. Screams, gunfire, chaos, fury and fear.

The monoliths still tower above, they do not see, or, they do not care. Save for two. The one with etchings and the one who is dead.


239's primary motivating factor in this moment is morbid curiosity about what Tessa considers to be an 'alien'.

She reduces the charge on her plasma carbine, lowers it a little bit, but does not yet go to a neutral stance.

"Go on," she said bluntly, albeit in a completely different voice to her canned shout from a second before.

"It's more a thing you show than say," Tessa begins, pointing with a thumb back over her shoulder. She tilts her head to one side and smiles as she lets her eyes indicate towards the gathering crowd, "don't want to start any trouble or nothin', you know." She reaches out a hand towards you expectantly, her eyes bright, as if she's just invited her best friend to a race across the meadow.

"C'mon."


Any normal person might freeze or panic, or freeze then panic, on the realization that they're standing on a bomb. A normal person would probably yell for everyone to get the hell out as they try to run as fast and as far away as they can.

But your weren't expecting Ahab to do any of that, were you?

Ahab takes a look at the line of buried mines and connects the dots (pun intended). Without a word, she steps up to the one in front of her, bends down, and thrusts her hands into the sand and dirt. Her arms wrap around the buried object, her muscles bulging as she yanks the whole thing up and backwards, intending to rip the entire line of explosives out of the ground and out of whatever ignition device they're all connected to at the other end.

They should have used wireless.

Seize by Force: 2+2+3 = 7

She takes definite and undeniable control of it.
She impresses, dismays, or frightens the enemy.

There is a moment, just a moment, of hesitation in the enemy line as it begins to dawn on them what you are doing. The Turians may be the galaxy's most accomplighed military race but even their reaction isn't instantaneous with you reaching for the mine, because surely you're not.

But of course you are. Because you are f*cking Ahab and gunpowder and fury flows through your veins, fire burns in your heart and audacity laces your bones. Pity to the wretches who underestimate your sheer brutal genius and the lengths which you will go to to protect what's yours.

The mine is in your hand, it's heavy but its weight is nothing to you in this moment. The forceful yank on its cables whips through the network of mines which all jump out of their small shallow graves in the ground, causing everyone on your side to take a leap back in surprise at realising what dangers had been right before their feet. It's in that moment, just as a large box tumbles through between the legs of one of the Turians in the line, that shots are fired.

At first it seems only dust is sent flying, as if they are trying to force you back by firing at your feet, or perhaps seeking to set off the mines. It's barely a second before the gunfire is suddenly deafening as it is returned from behind you amidst loud battle cries, whoops and cheers.

The defensive line of the enemy slowly begins to move back, seeking to seal the gaps that open when one of them fall, shot and dead, in to the dirt, but they do not stop firing furiously.

The screams of gleeful battle soon abate and the cries of pain and anger begin to take over from behind you. Before you. All around you. Congratulations dear Ahab, you have your battle.

Tell me, did you notice as Legs runs for cover, abandoning the Doctor?

Can you feel the first bullet as it hits you in the leg? Or the second as it hits you in the stomach?

The enemy line has thinned enough that you can see him now. A tall Turian, armed to the teeth in green battle armour, painted with the Turian sigils of Command. Stars and three others are stood at his side for a moment before they take for cover.

Did you see Bray go down, your waterkeeper, shot between the eyes?

Or Vix, as she runs across the battlefield firing furiously trying to get to you and drags your Doctor in to cover, shoving her in to the dirt behind one of the silk merchant carts, getting herself riddled with holes as she covers her. The breathing mask is blown off her face and she gasps as she crumbles to the ground in front of Kal'kolak. She is beyond help but her last breaths will be full of sand and slow in the coming.

Do you hear the gunfire from the infirmary?

Do you see Tenshi on top of the Shark Mech along with Dober, Foray and Kin as they rush to join the attack, guns blazing, rallying your gang to close together and stand firm, Dober falling with fatal wounds before they even reach the front line?

It's bad, I'll be honest with you, and you've taken several hits yourself from bullets, plasma discharges and biotic attacks. But you've got the mines and you have the enemy on the defensive.

Bullets are still flying, however, neither side seems inclined to stop, but eventually everyone's found enough cover that the worst of the fatalities seem over, save for the occasional idiot who breaks out of cover and gets picked off.

What do you do?

[Ahab, take 3-harm, before armour
Kal'kolak, take 2-harm, before armour]

239, there's suddenly gunfire all around, although you knew the situation was tense surely the suddenness of this battle breaking out was a surprise even to you. You do not have long to react, but long enough for a Nemean, before gunfire reaches you. Do you take cover?

It takes only a quick assessment for you to ascertain that the two sides are pretty evenly matched, what the Dextros lack in numbers compared to Ahab they make up for in weaponry. You hold it in your power to tip the scales one way or another with your Nemeans. They have yet to react save for stepping in to nearest cover and assessing the situation (some of the ones that went towards the infirmary are returning your way), but they are powering their weapons and are about to start shooting. Blue quickest of all.

What do you do?

White Horse, you too have time to take cover to save yourself if you act quickly, thanks to the distance between you and Ahab. You're not going to be able to make it back to your Workshop without exposing yourself. Where do you go?

[Raz_Fox]

I'll be honest and sad for it, chica, if I dived for Kal'kolak darling I'd be a better horse for it, but I dive backwards sharpish and end up crouched down listening to bulletcrack and whine, and it occurs to me that this? This is all my fault. Whatever just happened was clearly 239 launching her attack on Ahab, which, yes, I did ask her to do, idiot idiot idiot. And everyone's getting crossfired.

A grenade goes off too close to me for comfort and I bray loud and fierce.

If I wanted to get pitched in to the fighting, I've got a couple of my whining wire battery packs, but what's the use of that? I'm not a thing of battle, I do the electric dancepump wiregasm, and this is decidedly not my oeuvre.

But what I can do- well, Kal's down, yeah? That looked not good. And I've got a pack set to go boom right here in my hand. So it seems to me that I could toss it up behind me on a short fuse and use the shrapnel-burst crack to get folks' heads down while I scramble over to see what I can do that's needful for Kal. It's the least I can do. It's all I can do.

[Thanqol]

239, there's suddenly gunfire all around, although you knew the situation was tense surely the suddenness of this battle breaking out was a surprise even to you. You do not have long to react, but long enough for a Nemean, before gunfire reaches you. Do you take cover?

It takes only a quick assessment for you to ascertain that the two sides are pretty evenly matched, what the Dextros lack in numbers compared to Ahab they make up for in weaponry. You hold it in your power to tip the scales one way or another with your Nemeans. They have yet to react save for stepping in to nearest cover and assessing the situation (some of the ones that went towards the infirmary are returning your way), but they are powering their weapons and are about to start shooting. Blue quickest of all.

What do you do?

239 had no idea what to do. She could see the battlelines and the tactical elements as clear as day - but where did she fit in it? What did she want out of it? She had no idea how contributing to a sudden gunfight was going to allow her to make any progress towards any of her Directives. The tactics was easy but the strategy was unknowable.

This was beyond her. She wasn't designed or equipped to make that decision.

So she turned to the person who was. Her sync-probes extended, she jacked into Norman's brain, and she asked him what his instructions were.

[Norman: 8]

[stveje]

Tell me, did you notice as Legs runs for cover, abandoning the Doctor?

Ahab isn't even looking at him. She has no reason to keep half an eye on Legs (White Horse on the other hand might warrant such suspicion), and she has been known to miss details in the heat of the moment.

But there's a good chance someone noticed, and maybe that's worse. Depends on who it is.


Can you feel the first bullet as it hits you in the leg? Or the second as it hits you in the stomach?

Gunshots, knife wounds ... some wounds only hit you later. Surprisingly late.

Ahab feels nothing but the rush of battle ...


The enemy line has thinned enough that you can see him now. A tall Turian, armed to the teeth in green battle armour, painted with the Turian sigils of Command. Stars and three others are stood at his side for a moment before they take for cover.

Did you see Bray go down, your waterkeeper, shot between the eyes?

Or Vix, as she runs across the battlefield firing furiously trying to get to you and drags your Doctor in to cover, shoving her in to the dirt behind one of the silk merchant carts, getting herself riddled with holes as she covers her. The breathing mask is blown off her face and she gasps as she crumbles to the ground in front of Kal'kolak. She is beyond help but her last breaths will be full of sand and slow in the coming.

Do you hear the gunfire from the infirmary?

Do you see Tenshi on top of the Shark Mech along with Dober, Foray and Kin as they rush to join the attack, guns blazing, rallying your gang to close together and stand firm, Dober falling with fatal wounds before they even reach the front line?

It's bad, I'll be honest with you, and you've taken several hits yourself from bullets, plasma discharges and biotic attacks. But you've got the mines and you have the enemy on the defensive.

Bullets are still flying, however, neither side seems inclined to stop, but eventually everyone's found enough cover that the worst of the fatalities seem over, save for the occasional idiot who breaks out of cover and gets picked off.

What do you do?

... and it is in that rush that she truly lets go, opening herself to the blood and the fury around and inside her. It is in the midst of battle that the contrasts of the world stand out the clearest. A bullet shatters someone's skull to a million bloody pieces; she takes it in, not like a conscious observer, but like a dry sponge takes in liquid. Plasma incinerates someone's arm and they scream but fight on in a mindless death-rage; she takes it in. Somewhere amidst all this swirling chaos, an alien mind is strapped to a table; she takes in its pains, too.

All of it she takes in as she stands tall on the battlefield, staring down the enemy as they fall back behind their walls, letting the pain and rage of the moment clear her mind of all but Purpose!

[Spending my hold on the Quarian prisoner: what are his secret pains?

And while I'm at it, Opening my Brain: 4+6+1 = 11]

[Severan]

Usually, when I go into the Other Place, the World Beyond, it takes me a little while to come back, like I'm struggling back into the shape and the fit of this world. This time, though, the Other Place spits me out suddenly into a world filled with blinding light, screams, and the thick metallic smell of air being burnt by endless bursts of plasma rounds.

My body reacts before my brain, so I find myself flat on the ground before I can even recognise what that looks or feels like. I crawl quickly on my stomach to find cover behind a barrel- or is that a fat body?

Quickly taking stock:

1. My eyes are malfunctioning. There's a clear fluid filling them making my vision swim, and some of it overflows onto my face. It is not blood. Probably just a reaction to some dirt kicked up by the explosions.

2. My heart feels heavy and air is coming out of my lungs in short, aching, soundless gasps, but there are no wounds. Again, probably due to dust and shock from the sudden explosions.

3. Why there are suddenly explosions is confusing, but for the first time in a long time, I am sure about one thing. Whatever chaos and pain this fight brings, it is nothing compared to the agony that will come when the darkness from the Other Place overtakes us. The corruption there is already working its madness here, distracting us from the real battle, the one out of plain sight.

But how can I warn them? Who would understand? Tessa? No- too full of her own agenda. Ahab- if she survives this- too fixed on destroying anyone who gets between her and her quest for the Signal.

The Signal. That's it. That thick band I saw, reaching towards this world. If you'd asked me yesterday, I woulda said for sure that it's seeking out Ahab, but now I doubt it. I very much doubt it's after me. I need to find them, whoever it's tuning in to. They will understand, and maybe they can help.

But first things first. This has to end.

[Read a Sitch: 5+2=7. Which enemy is most vulnerable to Dave?]

[Anarion]

But what I can do- well, Kal's down, yeah?

I will have you know that any good combat medic can take a bullet, and I am nooooo exception. Kal is down, sure, but only because cover is a goddamn good idea and I've got my angel kit out.

On that note, Ahab just took a bullet to the gut, and it's my job, my goddamn job to keep her alive, even if she's busy rushing like a mad woman into the fray. And let me tell you, I am waaaaaay too out of it to care about something as stupid as patient consent. Yeah, Ahab is getting stabbed with some meds like right now. I run up to her and spend a stock, shot right in the arm.

[1+3=4. Angel kit at 4 stock, this is actually going to do 1 harm to Ahab. Drunken Kal says woops.]

[Elanorin]

I'll be honest and sad for it, chica, if I dived for Kal'kolak darling I'd be a better horse for it, but I dive backwards sharpish and end up crouched down listening to bulletcrack and whine, and it occurs to me that this? This is all my fault. Whatever just happened was clearly 239 launching her attack on Ahab, which, yes, I did ask her to do, idiot idiot idiot. And everyone's getting crossfired.

A grenade goes off too close to me for comfort and I bray loud and fierce.

If I wanted to get pitched in to the fighting, I've got a couple of my whining wire battery packs, but what's the use of that? I'm not a thing of battle, I do the electric dancepump wiregasm, and this is decidedly not my oeuvre.

But what I can do- well, Kal's down, yeah? That looked not good. And I've got a pack set to go boom right here in my hand. So it seems to me that I could toss it up behind me on a short fuse and use the shrapnel-burst crack to get folks' heads down while I scramble over to see what I can do that's needful for Kal. It's the least I can do. It's all I can do.

It's a good plan. You have a little way to go to make it all the way to Kal'kolak and Ahab (the good doctor is currently madly stabbing injections at Ahab and it looks like it hurts), maybe 300 yards or so, but with a good explosion like that to cover you it's entirely possible. It's risky though, gunfire is still coming from both sides and with most shooters in cover any movement out in the open away from cover like that will be conspicuous, so you're very much acting under fire. There is a big chance at least one bullet will find you before you get there.


239 had no idea what to do. She could see the battlelines and the tactical elements as clear as day - but where did she fit in it? What did she want out of it? She had no idea how contributing to a sudden gunfight was going to allow her to make any progress towards any of her Directives. The tactics was easy but the strategy was unknowable.

This was beyond her. She wasn't designed or equipped to make that decision.

So she turned to the person who was. Her sync-probes extended, she jacked into Norman's brain, and she asked him what his instructions were.

[Norman: 8]

Norman stirs from a deep drug-induced delirium. He is far from fully awake but his thoughts are clear enough to you once you allow for the usual blurriness and erratic irrelevant flotsam thoughts. Protect White Horse. White Horse can mend you. White Horse can build your beacon. Protect White Horse at all cost.

What do you do?



[Spending my hold on the Quarian prisoner: what are his secret pains?

The Quarian is a she. Her secret pains is her betrayal of the Dextro camp in seeking you. You see it now, with uncanny clarity. She was no spy. She sought you, against the wishes (and likely knowledge) of her fellow Quarians. This Quarian you have secured in Kal'kolak's infirmary still believes in the alliance of the council races. Is it hard to imagine Legs being a smidge too keen to jump to conclusions, to seize and torture first and ask questions later?

Other than that, she hides the fact that she has managed to make contact off-world. Not even her sister knows, and that eats her the most, as it is her most desperate determination to get a transmission out.


And while I'm at it, Opening my Brain: 4+6+1 = 11]

Sheets are rippling in the wind, flapping and fraying, reflecting the bright sun and bathing everything in a red light. That green-armoured Turian stands before you. It's hard to tell with Turians but he might be smiling a little. Even then he looks fierce and menacing. He stares straight at you and his gaze feel like it would burrow hard in to your skin, but your skin is hard, it is cool metal, perfect and synthetic.

Somewhere near you hear breathing, like someone is running.

The Turian Commander walks towards you and his armour is gone. His clothes are worn and patched but none of what he wears comes from Earth. The sheets bend in the wind and wrap in the air, shielding you intimately in red all around.

Somewhere near you can smell the salty scent of sweat. It trickles over your skin in little beads and drops. Somewhere near.

The Turian reaches out his empty hand in expectation towards you. You realise there is nothing in your hands or by your feet to place in it. His three-fingered hand remains, reaching patiently for you.

Somewhere near you can feel the muffled pain of bruises forming around your wrists, on your legs, on your shoulders and neck. But your skin is hard. Your skin is metal. You are unbreakable.

"It's been too long," his voice is layered and deep and you know he will hurt you. "Your human shape is growing on me. What's her name? Ahab?"


Usually, when I go into the Other Place, the World Beyond, it takes me a little while to come back, like I'm struggling back into the shape and the fit of this world. This time, though, the Other Place spits me out suddenly into a world filled with blinding light, screams, and the thick metallic smell of air being burnt by endless bursts of plasma rounds.

My body reacts before my brain, so I find myself flat on the ground before I can even recognise what that looks or feels like. I crawl quickly on my stomach to find cover behind a barrel- or is that a fat body?

Quickly taking stock:

1. My eyes are malfunctioning. There's a clear fluid filling them making my vision swim, and some of it overflows onto my face. It is not blood. Probably just a reaction to some dirt kicked up by the explosions.

2. My heart feels heavy and air is coming out of my lungs in short, aching, soundless gasps, but there are no wounds. Again, probably due to dust and shock from the sudden explosions.

3. Why there are suddenly explosions is confusing, but for the first time in a long time, I am sure about one thing. Whatever chaos and pain this fight brings, it is nothing compared to the agony that will come when the darkness from the Other Place overtakes us. The corruption there is already working its madness here, distracting us from the real battle, the one out of plain sight.

But how can I warn them? Who would understand? Tessa? No- too full of her own agenda. Ahab- if she survives this- too fixed on destroying anyone who gets between her and her quest for the Signal.

The Signal. That's it. That thick band I saw, reaching towards this world. If you'd asked me yesterday, I woulda said for sure that it's seeking out Ahab, but now I doubt it. I very much doubt it's after me. I need to find them, whoever it's tuning in to. They will understand, and maybe they can help.

But first things first. This has to end.

[Read a Sitch: 5+2=7. Which enemy is most vulnerable to Dave?]

The definition of Enemy here is very much depending on what side you are on, but I am under the impression that Dave is on Ahab's side, therefore, I will point my finger to the Quarian in the infirmary. Normally you'd be hard pushed to get close enough to get deep insights in to a member of that race due to their extensive protections against the elements, but she is famously without a suit, thanks to Legs. And pretty defenceless too, she's not posing much of a threat however but hetting there is not too hard since its but a stones throw from you and within the camp and plenty of cover between here and there.

Save for the Nemeans before you, which do not look particularly vulnerable right now, save for some temporary confusion as to what to do, I have to direct you over towards the Enemy camp. There is one Turian that has hunkered down a little further forwards than the rest. She is armed, but lighter than most of the others. She is alone in her chosen spot and although she has cover she is more exposed than the rest. Getting to her will be pretty damn risky though and will almost definitely draw fire.

[Thanqol]

Norman stirs from a deep drug-induced delirium. He is far from fully awake but his thoughts are clear enough to you once you allow for the usual blurriness and erratic irrelevant flotsam thoughts. Protect White Horse. White Horse can mend you. White Horse can build your beacon. Protect White Horse at all cost.

What do you do?

Confirmed.

It was so simple after that. This was what she was built to do: Follow clear tactical objectives with limited scope in high intensity combat situation. 239 almost shuddered with relief. Nothing in the world felt better.

She identified White Horse's location, got between her and the firefight, and started advancing directly towards her. Tall, menacing, unstoppable, fixated, scary as hell. Once she reached the alien she'd intercept her - tackling her if necessary - to carry her away from the danger zone. Hostiles would be dealt with as necessary but she wasn't going to fire unless fired upon.

[Raz_Fox]

Then Nine’s there, a grim avenging angel. Did you do this, doll? This whole thing because I said yes?

Or was this in the cards from the start and you and your dark passenger just wanted a Horse to feel some gratitude?

Either way, I’m all aflutter and nearly bolt right out into the bullets, and I babble out the first thing that comes to mind: “Alliance! I need Alliance transponders first! Then you’ll have the ansible!”

[Severan]

The definition of Enemy here is very much depending on what side you are on, but I am under the impression that Dave is on Ahab's side, therefore, I will point my finger to the Quarian in the infirmary. Normally you'd be hard pushed to get close enough to get deep insights in to a member of that race due to their extensive protections against the elements, but she is famously without a suit, thanks to Legs. And pretty defenceless too, she's not posing much of a threat however but hetting there is not too hard since its but a stones throw from you and within the camp and plenty of cover between here and there.

Save for the Nemeans before you, which do not look particularly vulnerable right now, save for some temporary confusion as to what to do, I have to direct you over towards the Enemy camp. There is one Turian that has hunkered down a little further forwards than the rest. She is armed, but lighter than most of the others. She is alone in her chosen spot and although she has cover she is more exposed than the rest. Getting to her will be pretty damn risky though and will almost definitely draw fire.

Knowing what little I do about Quarians, seems bustin' in there without me bein' suited and booted by the Old One or her nurses ain't a great idea. And they have plenty other things to be dealing with right now. Provided she's safe in the med tent, she ain't going anywhere, so she'll have to wait.

I look around me for something to throw- a boot's too heavy to go far, and anyways, I need it. Then I remember, and feel deep inside my sleeve. There's the cool, slim handle of a knife not much longer than my index finger. I let it slide into my hand and, before I know it, I'm coming up partially from my cover and flinging the thing at the Turian footsoldier. Whether it makes it to her or not don't really matter- but you'd have to be blind to miss how it catches the light as it goes.

[Doing Something Under Fire: 11+1=12]

[Thanqol]

Then Nine’s there, a grim avenging angel. Did you do this, doll? This whole thing because I said yes?

Or was this in the cards from the start and you and your dark passenger just wanted a Horse to feel some gratitude?

Either way, I’m all aflutter and nearly bolt right out into the bullets, and I babble out the first thing that comes to mind: “Alliance! I need Alliance transponders first! Then you’ll have the ansible!”

239 will respond by grabbing the Horse, throwing her into a fireman-carry, and swiftly exiting the battlefield along the path of least resistance.

The data is logged though. The next stage to the operation is marked. 239 allows an edge of smugness to enter her walk. Things are so nice when people tell her exactly what she needs to do in order to fulfil her Directive. So much better than the horrible scratching cacophony of having to think for herself.

[Elanorin]

I rolled 3+3, so that's a 6, but a 8 with +harm.

Just as you are shoving the bits back in your kit from your heroic attempts at treating the good Captain a biotic blast crashes down on you from above, dodging around your cover, filling the air around you with blue energy and before you know it you are helplessly levitating in to the air and drifting across towards the Dextro camp. It doesn't last for long, just a few seconds, and the blue glow dissipates and you suddenly crash down to the dirt.

Good news, the blast was a simple and relatively low charge and save for tumbling you about a bit and getting you covered in dust and grit you're no worse off harm-wise. That and no one shot you. Yet. Bad news, you're face down in the dirt with a mouth full of sand dust, bang in the open, halfway across between the two battling camps, with no cover within immediate reach.

If you glance up ahead you can just about make out between the vehicles and makeshift cover that the Turian commander has re-joined the ranks and he's pointing at you as he speaks to his troops.

What do you do?


Knowing what little I do about Quarians, seems bustin' in there without me bein' suited and booted by the Old One or her nurses ain't a great idea. And they have plenty other things to be dealing with right now. Provided she's safe in the med tent, she ain't going anywhere, so she'll have to wait.

I look around me for something to throw- a boot's too heavy to go far, and anyways, I need it. Then I remember, and feel deep inside my sleeve. There's the cool, slim handle of a knife not much longer than my index finger. I let it slide into my hand and, before I know it, I'm coming up partially from my cover and flinging the thing at the Turian footsoldier. Whether it makes it to her or not don't really matter- but you'd have to be blind to miss how it catches the light as it goes.

[Doing Something Under Fire: 11+1=12]

Shots come your way as you pop your head out and throw your knives but you're quick enough to keep clear. Judging by the fact that that last shot came from the Turian you just aimed at, you seem to have succeeded in catching her attention. She's got her weapon trained on you ready to shoot next time you appear.

What do you do?

[stveje]

The Quarian is a she. Her secret pains is her betrayal of the Dextro camp in seeking you. You see it now, with uncanny clarity. She was no spy. She sought you, against the wishes (and likely knowledge) of her fellow Quarians. This Quarian you have secured in Kal'kolak's infirmary still believes in the alliance of the council races. Is it hard to imagine Legs being a smidge too keen to jump to conclusions, to seize and torture first and ask questions later?

Other than that, she hides the fact that she has managed to make contact off-world. Not even her sister knows, and that eats her the most, as it is her most desperate determination to get a transmission out.



Sheets are rippling in the wind, flapping and fraying, reflecting the bright sun and bathing everything in a red light. That green-armoured Turian stands before you. It's hard to tell with Turians but he might be smiling a little. Even then he looks fierce and menacing. He stares straight at you and his gaze feel like it would burrow hard in to your skin, but your skin is hard, it is cool metal, perfect and synthetic.

Somewhere near you hear breathing, like someone is running.

The Turian Commander walks towards you and his armour is gone. His clothes are worn and patched but none of what he wears comes from Earth. The sheets bend in the wind and wrap in the air, shielding you intimately in red all around.

Somewhere near you can smell the salty scent of sweat. It trickles over your skin in little beads and drops. Somewhere near.

The Turian reaches out his empty hand in expectation towards you. You realise there is nothing in your hands or by your feet to place in it. His three-fingered hand remains, reaching patiently for you.

Somewhere near you can feel the muffled pain of bruises forming around your wrists, on your legs, on your shoulders and neck. But your skin is hard. Your skin is metal. You are unbreakable.

"It's been too long," his voice is layered and deep and you know he will hurt you. "Your human shape is growing on me. What's her name? Ahab?"

"There is no better shape, you'll agree," she says, and even as the vision is still burning behind her eyes, she grabs onto the shark mech and swings herself up to replace Tenshi in the driver's seat. Time for her to take charge.

"Tenshi," she commands, "The prisoner has vital information. Take the Tarrasque and two of the Sirens, pick a handful of men - not Legs - and defend the Infirmary. Defend the prisoner. Park the dragon in front, and anything tries to get in - anything - you crush it. Nothing and no one enters or leaves the Infirmary until the enemy is destroyed."

"LEGS!" she yells, next.

[Anarion]

If you glance up ahead you can just about make out between the vehicles and makeshift cover that the Turian commander has re-joined the ranks and he's pointing at you as he speaks to his troops.

What do you do?


I'm a doctor, not a warrior, god damn it! If you think I'm getting up and running through all this hailstorm of bullets and bombs and anything else, think again. I'm getting down on the ground and being as flat of a target as possible. I care about not getting shot, I can sort out the rest later.

[Severan]

Shots come your way as you pop your head out and throw your knives but you're quick enough to keep clear. Judging by the fact that that last shot came from the Turian you just aimed at, you seem to have succeeded in catching her attention. She's got her weapon trained on you ready to shoot next time you appear.

What do you do?

She's got me in her sights, an' I don't much want my head being blown off, so I stay ducked down. I take off one of my boots- worn, don't look too good, smell worse- grab it by the laces and start spinnin' it over my head, where I reckon she can see. Sometimes all you need is a distraction.

[Rolling for Direct Brain Whisper: 8+2=10]

[Elanorin]

"There is no better shape, you'll agree," she says, and even as the vision is still burning behind her eyes, she grabs onto the shark mech and swings herself up to replace Tenshi in the driver's seat. Time for her to take charge.

"Mmmm…" echoes the voice of the Turian in your ears as the vision fades, but not before you feel two three-fingered hands against your sjin, under your clothes.


"Tenshi," she commands, "The prisoner has vital information. Take the Tarrasque and two of the Sirens, pick a handful of men - not Legs - and defend the Infirmary. Defend the prisoner. Park the dragon in front, and anything tries to get in - anything - you crush it. Nothing and no one enters or leaves the Infirmary until the enemy is destroyed."

[You are at the frontline and you are the most sought target, getting out of cover and on board the Shark, you're acting under fire.]

"Got it, Captain!" Tenshi shouts as he jumps down from the Mech and runs back for cover amidst flying bullets, and on towards the camp.

On the Shark with you is Foray and Kin, both armed and already laying down cover fire for you boarding and Tenshi getting away. Foray who's been with you since a kid, sits closest shooting automatic fire at the enemy camp. Kin is huddled at the back, hurling her favourite home-made firebombs.


"LEGS!" she yells, next.

Legs is nowhere near. He ran off as hell broke lose and took the cannisters with him. There's no sight of him.

"I think he headed back towards the camp, Captain!" Kin hollers from the back. "I haven't seen him since the shooting started, though, but he was headed that way!" she points back towards the camp, away from the enemy, roughly in the direction of the Nemeans and the Infirmary. Tenshi is already halfway there.

Up ahead lies Kal'kolak in the middle of the firing line, trying to make herself as flat as possible, the next moment the enemy grabs her with another biotic attack. Perhaps Legs would have been able to counter it had he been here, but he's not and she flies helplessly in to enemy hands.

What do you do?


I'm a doctor, not a warrior, god damn it! If you think I'm getting up and running through all this hailstorm of bullets and bombs and anything else, think again. I'm getting down on the ground and being as flat of a target as possible. I care about not getting shot, I can sort out the rest later.

Wise move.

It's perhaps a minute before the next biotic hit grabs you and you are sent tumbing through the air, through enemy lines, and on to the ground behind their defensive line. Above you stands an armed Turian in green battle armour and alongside him are two Quarians, one of which is Stars.

"Are you the Doctor?" he demands, his voice vibrating with the strange dual notes of Turians.

What do you do?


She's got me in her sights, an' I don't much want my head being blown off, so I stay ducked down. I take off one of my boots- worn, don't look too good, smell worse- grab it by the laces and start spinnin' it over my head, where I reckon she can see. Sometimes all you need is a distraction.

[Rolling for Direct Brain Whisper: 8+2=10]

Cool, what is it you whisper? What's your demand? For her to just cave and take the hit? Surrender?

Meanwhile Tenshi is running hell for leather straight towards you, he's seen you and he's seeking you.

[Anarion]

"Yes, I'm the doctor" I say, holding my hands out palms up so they can see I'm not doing anything. I am both coming off the drug high and very vulnerable right now. Being a doctor is at least a sort of safety. It's being more useful alive than dead, it's not getting immediately shot, and hopefully it's Ahab pulling off a daring rescue. And well, I'm a doctor, I heal people, whoever needs it. I'm not going to decline that just because I'm in another camp now.

[Elanorin]

239, White Horse, one way or another you are looking to make off from the scene. Perhaps together, perhaps one is trying to ditch the other, either way your most direct path away from fighting, flying bullets and aliens of uncertain morals, is intercepted. Nine women stand in your path and you both know them well enough, K-9 and her gang of bloodthirsty warriors. Days like today is what they live for and they are armed and dressed for the occasion, complete with painted faces and trophy 'jewellery'. It is clear as day they are spoiling for a fight.

K-9 tilts her head to the side as she catches your attention.

"Running from the fight, chicks? One might question your... loyalties."

The eight women behind her grin, showing their teeth. There's the odd amused nudge and another drawing her gun.

"You in particular, White Horse. Are you not breathing borrowed air already? You ought to be careful, in case your trouble tips the scale against your, heh, worth," she says and plays with the machete in her hand.

"And, Nine, is that sh't in the infirmary your idea of a diversion? Well I didn't fall for it."

What do you do?


"Yes, I'm the doctor" I say, holding my hands out palms up so they can see I'm not doing anything. I am both coming off the drug high and very vulnerable right now. Being a doctor is at least a sort of safety. It's being more useful alive than dead, it's not getting immediately shot, and hopefully it's Ahab pulling off a daring rescue. And well, I'm a doctor, I heal people, whoever needs it. I'm not going to decline that just because I'm in another camp now.

"Good. Get up," he orders and steps a step back to allow you to get yourself back up on your feet. In a moment you hear the charge of two Haliat Stiletto pistols aimed straight at you in the hands of each of the two Quarians.

"Don't try to run," Stars warns you before motioning you to move further inside the camp. "We have use for you but after today we're not patient with theatrics and bravado."

[Thanqol]

239, White Horse, one way or another you are looking to make off from the scene. Perhaps together, perhaps one is trying to ditch the other, either way your most direct path away from fighting, flying bullets and aliens of uncertain morals, is intercepted. Nine women stand in your path and you both know them well enough, K-9 and her gang of bloodthirsty warriors. Days like today is what they live for and they are armed and dressed for the occasion, complete with painted faces and trophy 'jewellery'. It is clear as day they are spoiling for a fight.

K-9 tilts her head to the side as she catches your attention.

"Running from the fight, chicks? One might question your... loyalties."

The eight women behind her grin, showing their teeth. There's the odd amused nudge and another drawing her gun.

"You in particular, White Horse. Are you not breathing borrowed air already? You ought to be careful, in case your trouble tips the scale against your, heh, worth," she says and plays with the machete in her hand.

"And, Nine, is that sh't in the infirmary your idea of a diversion? Well I didn't fall for it."

What do you do?

While 239 wouldn't lose a single processing cycle about engaging in a short range gunfight under these circumstances, she is carrying a HVT and can't afford the crossfire. With great reluctance she cedes control to her negotiation package and starts pulling up what she had sincerely hoped would be irrelevant psych profiles.

It's an especially arduous process because her mind is still filled with viruses who have their own suggestions as to where to steer this situation. She remains eerie still while she's thinking, not even performing basic posturing like charging her plasma carbine.

[Read a person at -1 from viruses: 8. How could I get you to let us past?]

[Raz_Fox]

“All air is borrowed from what’s before us,” I say, clinging to the robot who has decided to kidnap me away from the possibility of getting shot, which I can’t exactly say I disagree with, really? “We stare at what was and back into what is, blind, drowning with every breath.”

[Elanorin]

While 239 wouldn't lose a single processing cycle about engaging in a short range gunfight under these circumstances, she is carrying a HVT and can't afford the crossfire. With great reluctance she cedes control to her negotiation package and starts pulling up what she had sincerely hoped would be irrelevant psych profiles.

It's an especially arduous process because her mind is still filled with viruses who have their own suggestions as to where to steer this situation. She remains eerie still while she's thinking, not even performing basic posturing like charging her plasma carbine.

[Read a person at -1 from viruses: 8. How could I get you to let us past?]

You know that old thing about if you can't beat them, join them, right? Well, K-9 and her posse are nothing if not ambitious. You, your gang and White Horse - one of the best techs in this hemisphere, you have a pretty solid base of influence there, especially when paired with the K-9 warrior band. Together you'd be a force to be reckoned with, probably even give Ahab pause. Maybe even pause enough to make K-9 second in command just to keep the peace and quell any talk of mutiny. You know K-9 would seriously consider that. Of course, that would put you under her rule, but them's the breaks, she'd let you through but she'll probably seek to ensure your loyalty by sending one of hers along with you.

If you can't join them, then you're gonna have to beat them. Only about half of your gang is nearby so it's a pretty even match if you choose to draw weapons here. You have more hi-tech but the Ladoga K-9 are still armed and they are f'cking brutal and ruthless with those weapons. A shootout is likely to end up hurting like hell and with losses on both sides, but you are Nemeans and better armoured. Leader against leader, though. There you stand perhaps the best chance, and K-9 subscribes to old warrior code, challenge her and she will be much too proud while stood before her gang not to accept.


“All air is borrowed from what’s before us,” I say, clinging to the robot who has decided to kidnap me away from the possibility of getting shot, which I can’t exactly say I disagree with, really? “We stare at what was and back into what is, blind, drowning with every breath.”

"...yeah." K-9 said, frowning a little but shoves the deep existential comments aside. "So why running away? Us girls should stick together," she adds a smile which is not to be believed. "Even weird alien ones. Don't you think?"

[stveje]

[You are at the frontline and you are the most sought target, getting out of cover and on board the Shark, you're acting under fire.]

2+5+0 = 7


What do you do?

Well, that's great.

I'll wait to see what the result of my 7-9 is, before I answer that question.

[Thanqol]

"...yeah." K-9 said, frowning a little but shoves the deep existential comments aside. "So why running away? Us girls should stick together," she adds a smile which is not to be believed. "Even weird alien ones. Don't you think?"

"Proposal accepted," said 239, opting to lean into the weird robot monotone bit. "We shall acknowledge your authority IF_AND_ONLY_IF we have free reign to construct an off-world signal array to request CASEVAC for my pilot while under your protection."

She hoists White Horse off her shoulder, plants her firmly on the ground, and rotates her so she's facing K-9. It is quietly plain how much choice she has in this arrangement.

"The safety of my pilot is my primary concern," she said, just wanting to get this part out of the way now. "Any threat to my directive will be dealt with via lethal force."

239 isn't particularly fussed about this whole thing. She had been more reluctant to throw in with Stars given - wisely in retrospect - her beef with Ahab along with her threat to her directive. But a bunch of heavily armed gunluggers with no ambitions other than being the baddest chicks on the block? Those were perfect friends.

[Severan]

Cool, what is it you whisper? What's your demand? For her to just cave and take the hit? Surrender?
Meanwhile Tenshi is running hell for leather straight towards you, he's seen you and he's seeking you.

Surrendering ain't much of an option- I don't have a gun, an' she's surrounded by them who'd just as happily kill me if she stopped trying.

And then I really don't like that Tenshi's coming at me. I do what Ahab asks, most of time anyways, but this guy is on a different level. He's the kind of loyal that gets you dead.

I'd been thinkin' of playin' a little with the soldier girl, but I can see I ain't gonna have the time. So I send my message through the cracklin' air, just as Tenshi's almost on me.

Cover us- shoot into your own line.

[Anarion]

"Good. Get up," he orders and steps a step back to allow you to get yourself back up on your feet. In a moment you hear the charge of two Haliat Stiletto pistols aimed straight at you in the hands of each of the two Quarians.

"Don't try to run," Stars warns you before motioning you to move further inside the camp. "We have use for you but after today we're not patient with theatrics and bravado."

I keep my hands up and chop off a laughing snort. "You've been watching the Horse too much then. I'm a doctor, I heal people. Please don't shoot me." And let them escort me wherever they're going to escort me.

[Elanorin]

2+5+0 = 7

Well, that's great.

I'll wait to see what the result of my 7-9 is, before I answer that question.

Miss Leviathan arriving on the battlefield has upped the ante and the assault from the other side is no longer limited to gunfire and biotics. Two separate explosions hit not too far from you as grenades begin to land. You can see the grenade launchers coming out, one on top of one of their armoured vehicles, its aim coming your way, in fact it's coming straight for the Shark and you hesitate as you realise that. You have a choice to make:
- If you move double speed you'll make it on and you'll be able to turn away enough to just dodge the missile as it whistles past, of course, behind you is the Infirmary and Tenshi is still running and hasn't reached it yet, no less had a chance to fortify it. It will take the blast instead.
- Or you could hesitate a moment longer and let the Shark take a missile to the face. We're talking 4-harm to the Shark with 3-harm blow through to Kin and Foray inside, but while you will feel the blast, and get showered with shrapnel and dust, it won't hit you.


"Proposal accepted," said 239, opting to lean into the weird robot monotone bit. "We shall acknowledge your authority IF_AND_ONLY_IF we have free reign to construct an off-world signal array to request CASEVAC for my pilot while under your protection."

She hoists White Horse off her shoulder, plants her firmly on the ground, and rotates her so she's facing K-9. It is quietly plain how much choice she has in this arrangement.

"The safety of my pilot is my primary concern," she said, just wanting to get this part out of the way now. "Any threat to my directive will be dealt with via lethal force."

239 isn't particularly fussed about this whole thing. She had been more reluctant to throw in with Stars given - wisely in retrospect - her beef with Ahab along with her threat to her directive. But a bunch of heavily armed gunluggers with no ambitions other than being the baddest chicks on the block? Those were perfect friends.

"What?" K-9 was clearly not expecting this. She was all set to begin hacking away at you two.

She looks you over, head to toe, and each of the Nemeans with you. "Your gang too?" she asks, clearly smelling power and pretending to be unaffected by its appeal. The mention of building an array doesn't seem to bother her in the slightest.

"And White Horse? Will you follow me too?"


Surrendering ain't much of an option- I don't have a gun, an' she's surrounded by them who'd just as happily kill me if she stopped trying.

And then I really don't like that Tenshi's coming at me. I do what Ahab asks, most of time anyways, but this guy is on a different level. He's the kind of loyal that gets you dead.

I'd been thinkin' of playin' a little with the soldier girl, but I can see I ain't gonna have the time. So I send my message through the cracklin' air, just as Tenshi's almost on me.

Cover us- shoot into your own line.

Asking someone to shoot at their own people is a big ask. She hesitates and trembles, her weapon is down but she drops it rather than aim it back on her own kind and the words you whispered form invisible strands of barbed wire as they begin to burrow in to her mind. She clasps her head and buckles over, blood dripping from her nose. Her mouth opens to scream but the barbed wire snakes around her throat, doing your bidding. Tell me, do you make her scream, or do you force her to suffer in silence?


I keep my hands up and chop off a laughing snort. "You've been watching the Horse too much then. I'm a doctor, I heal people. Please don't shoot me." And let them escort me wherever they're going to escort me.

They bring you along and inside one of the more heavily armed vehicles amid cries of "They're bringing out the Shark!" and you see grenade launchers being brought out and mounted on vehicles. One on top of the armoured personnel carrier that you're in. It's a heavily modified vehicle with what looks like the body of another welded on top of it, allowing for comfortable standing room inside, even for the Turians.

There are a few wounded in here, three Quarians and a Turian, but the Turian Commander stops you before you have a chance to take a closer look at any of them.

"How do we get the human to back the hell down?" he asks.

[Anarion]

They bring you along and inside one of the more heavily armed vehicles amid cries of "They're bringing out the Shark!" and you see grenade launchers being brought out and mounted on vehicles. One on top of the armoured personnel carrier that you're in. It's a heavily modified vehicle with what looks like the body of another welded on top of it, allowing for comfortable standing room inside, even for the Turians.

There are a few wounded in here, three Quarians and a Turian, but the Turian Commander stops you before you have a chance to take a closer look at any of them.

"How do we get the human to back the hell down?" he asks.

"You want Ahab to back the hell down?" I swear, is everything these people say going to be met with an incredulous laugh? I think they're quickly picking up a good track record on that front. Well, I attempt not to make them feel too belittled, there are a lot of guns and I hate it when easily offended people have guns. "I think you may be misunderstanding your situation. You can shoot Ahab until she stops moving, you can surrender, or she'll get around to killing or capturing you. That's pretty much it."

[Severan]

Asking someone to shoot at their own people is a big ask. She hesitates and trembles, her weapon is down but she drops it rather than aim it back on her own kind and the words you whispered form invisible strands of barbed wire as they begin to burrow in to her mind. She clasps her head and buckles over, blood dripping from her nose. Her mouth opens to scream but the barbed wire snakes around her throat, doing your bidding. Tell me, do you make her scream, or do you force her to suffer in silence?

I watch her struggling with my suggestion rattlin' round her brain, like a wasp in a jar. If she went with it, it would hardly hurt at all. So I wonder, what it is that makes her protective of them? Is it a biological 'keep the species alive' thing, or just a fear of losing control? Or is it the 'loyalty' thing, what Tenshi does?

I think I sometimes get close to a loyalty thing with Ahab, but that's just the practicalities of stayin' alive. I'd never suffer an agony instead of somebody else. It's irrational.

What would they do for her, if they had the same dilemma? Would they save her?

Or, what would they do now if she started, say, tearing at her own skin?

I feel the dark strands of thought connecting me to her and pull, slowly, tighter.

She can scream. I bet it sounds beautiful.

[Thanqol]

"What?" K-9 was clearly not expecting this. She was all set to begin hacking away at you two.

She looks you over, head to toe, and each of the Nemeans with you. "Your gang too?" she asks, clearly smelling power and pretending to be unaffected by its appeal. The mention of building an array doesn't seem to bother her in the slightest.

239 ran two calculations. The additional leverage over K-9 gained by making her think she had an army of loyal combat suits verses the added responsibility of having to deal with it when those walking virus canisters screwed up in public.

Calculation two won out handily, and she was about to declaim responsibility for them, when calculation one made the nasty little point that she'd get blamed for whatever they did anyway.

"Yes," she said blankly and left it at that.

[Elanorin]

"You want Ahab to back the hell down?" I swear, is everything these people say going to be met with an incredulous laugh? I think they're quickly picking up a good track record on that front. Well, I attempt not to make them feel too belittled, there are a lot of guns and I hate it when easily offended people have guns. "I think you may be misunderstanding your situation. You can shoot Ahab until she stops moving, you can surrender, or she'll get around to killing or capturing you. That's pretty much it."

"Everyone wants something, Doctor, as sure as the spinning of the worlds. She's not a machine."

"Even the machines have desires these days," Stars comments, gun still aimed at you.

"What is it Ahab is after? What is it we have that she wants?" The Commander continues. His tone is calm and collected, but his fists are tightening.


I watch her struggling with my suggestion rattlin' round her brain, like a wasp in a jar. If she went with it, it would hardly hurt at all. So I wonder, what it is that makes her protective of them? Is it a biological 'keep the species alive' thing, or just a fear of losing control? Or is it the 'loyalty' thing, what Tenshi does?

I think I sometimes get close to a loyalty thing with Ahab, but that's just the practicalities of stayin' alive. I'd never suffer an agony instead of somebody else. It's irrational.

What would they do for her, if they had the same dilemma? Would they save her?

Or, what would they do now if she started, say, tearing at her own skin?

I feel the dark strands of thought connecting me to her and pull, slowly, tighter.

She can scream. I bet it sounds beautiful.

Oh she screams alright, and although it's not like you're actually killing her, it certainly sounds like you are. She is pleading to the departed, blabbering to ghosts to help her, before she crawls back in to cover and out of your sight. You can still hear her cries though.

Tenshi arrives, skidding to a halt next to you on the gritty ground. He throws a glance in the direction of your gaze and the screaming Turian, a brief cloud seem to pass over him but is quickly dismissed.

"You're with me, Dave. We have to defend the Infirmary. Wheel or shotgun?" he asks as he begins to check for when it's clear to make another dash, his eyes set on two of the Sirens stood a bit further away.


239 ran two calculations. The additional leverage over K-9 gained by making her think she had an army of loyal combat suits verses the added responsibility of having to deal with it when those walking virus canisters screwed up in public.

Calculation two won out handily, and she was about to declaim responsibility for them, when calculation one made the nasty little point that she'd get blamed for whatever they did anyway.

"Yes," she said blankly and left it at that.

Blue, at your side, turns his head to look at you. He says nothing but tilts his head in a rather human way that indicates a question. His face is as blank as yours, hidden behind the visor.

K-9 offers you a genuine and very pleased grin. The best day ever clearly just got Better. "Call them here. All of them. I don't want any... misunderstandings."

[stveje]

Miss Leviathan arriving on the battlefield has upped the ante and the assault from the other side is no longer limited to gunfire and biotics. Two separate explosions hit not too far from you as grenades begin to land. You can see the grenade launchers coming out, one on top of one of their armoured vehicles, its aim coming your way, in fact it's coming straight for the Shark and you hesitate as you realise that. You have a choice to make:
- If you move double speed you'll make it on and you'll be able to turn away enough to just dodge the missile as it whistles past, of course, behind you is the Infirmary and Tenshi is still running and hasn't reached it yet, no less had a chance to fortify it. It will take the blast instead.
- Or you could hesitate a moment longer and let the Shark take a missile to the face. We're talking 4-harm to the Shark with 3-harm blow through to Kin and Foray inside, but while you will feel the blast, and get showered with shrapnel and dust, it won't hit you.

Okay ...

If Ahab knows Legs at all, he wouldn't dare run like this unless he intended to be very far away and not returning, or he's got some hare-brained plan for a ready excuse. She can only hope he's running for the HYDRA with those canisters, because he'd better have some other, really amazing plan in mind if that's not it. Either way, nothing she can do about it here and now.

More important and immediate concerns and all that.

The Shark will have to take a hit. It's moderately armored, so one hit shouldn't stop it, and hopefully Kin and Foray know to keep their heads down. It'll hurt, but she'll hurt the enemy worse ...

Ahab sees the grenade coming her way and hesitates for one deliberate second. Even before the flames and shrapnel has cleared, she's climbing up the Shark and forcing the reeling machine around, aiming right at the enemy tank. Its mouth starts to charge, its throat a gateway to the flaming pits of Hell itself.

[4-2=2 Harm to the Shark, 3-2=1 blow-through to Kin and Foray. Some minor functional, field-patchable damage to the Shark.

Go Aggro: 5+3+3 = 11]

They have exactly as long as it takes the shark to recover its bearings and charge its weapon to fall to their knees and give her what she wants, unconditionally, or suffer.


"Everyone wants something, Doctor, as sure as the spinning of the worlds. She's not a machine."

"Even the machines have desires these days," Stars comments, gun still aimed at you.

"What is it Ahab is after? What is it we have that she wants?" The Commander continues. His tone is calm and collected, but his fists are tightening

I want to point out that unless they have their ... whatever counts for ears in Turians ... filled with old socks, they know very well what Ahab wants. They could just give her Stars.

Of course, they're hoping for something else, no doubt.

[Thanqol]

Blue, at your side, turns his head to look at you. He says nothing but tilts his head in a rather human way that indicates a question. His face is as blank as yours, hidden behind the visor.

K-9 offers you a genuine and very pleased grin. The best day ever clearly just got Better. "Call them here. All of them. I don't want any... misunderstandings."

A flash of deeply unreasonable justified anger aggressive subject analysis breaks out in 239's mind. Blue is using body language on her? He is attempting to communicate nonverbally using human nonverbal coding while in the presence of actual humans? Instead of just communicating via wireless frequency like a command and control unit is meant to do?

She felt like pinning him down and running him through a manual reset to factory defaults. She didn't know why she found that look so insulting. But either way, out of sheer irritation she'd already run the analysis to decode and infer the gesture.

[Read a person 7: What do you wish I'd do?]

"Enact," she said in a perfectly level robotic monotone at Blue. All the frosty acid she wanted to soak that word in was contained to her own mind. Like a proper Nemean.

[Anarion]

"Everyone wants something, Doctor, as sure as the spinning of the worlds. She's not a machine."

"Even the machines have desires these days," Stars comments, gun still aimed at you.

"What is it Ahab is after? What is it we have that she wants?" The Commander continues. His tone is calm and collected, but his fists are tightening.


"Listen, I'm going to level with you. I have not been paying any attention to this." I adjust my jacket and settle into a lecture stance. "I'm a doctor. I've got an infirmary full of patients showing up at my door starting yesterday. You're probably interested in the Quarian, right? She's alive, I kept Legs from killing her, you are very welcome. Or did you want the odd man with the psychic trauma? If so, I apologize but his treatment isn't finished and the only person who can assist me with it is in the other camp. I've been somewhat busy in the meantime and I'm sure the pitched battle going on out there is going to really free up my schedule. So, no, I have no idea what Ahab wants. Here, try this. Give her all your weapons, valuables, and vehicles. I bet she'd agree to that. It's called surrendering."

[Elanorin]

"Listen, I'm going to level with you. I have not been paying any attention to this." I adjust my jacket and settle into a lecture stance. "I'm a doctor. I've got an infirmary full of patients showing up at my door starting yesterday. You're probably interested in the Quarian, right? She's alive, I kept Legs from killing her, you are very welcome. Or did you want the odd man with the psychic trauma? If so, I apologize but his treatment isn't finished and the only person who can assist me with it is in the other camp. I've been somewhat busy in the meantime and I'm sure the pitched battle going on out there is going to really free up my schedule. So, no, I have no idea what Ahab wants. Here, try this. Give her all your weapons, valuables, and vehicles. I bet she'd agree to that. It's called surrendering."

At the mention of the Quarian in your care the two Quarians and the Turian Commander exchange glances, it's clear enough that this was news to them. And even if it wasn't it very soon becomes clear when Stars bursts out,

"Meeri! The b'tch has Meeri! Commander, we have to-"

"Stars," the Turian officer interrupts with a commanding voice.

"The question is more how she got Meeri," the second Quarian said, voice suspicious.

"Commander! The shark is still going!" a young Turian appears in the door, his face clearly concerned. "We can try to hit it again but it's coming about, Commander. I've heard stories about Ahab's shark-"

The Commander raises a hand and the young Turian immediately cuts himself off.

"Plan B." The Commander announces and makes a head gesture to the second Quarian, "Lieutenant."

The Quarian Lieutenant nods and brings out some biotic bonds.

"Commander, no. No. We can take her." Stars begin, rearing back but quickly has her hands bound in the biotic cuffs.

"She said she wants you. I doubt that's all she wants but until we know more..." The Commander directs a brief look towards Kal'kolak.

"You brought this on yourself, Serah'Tar. You had to go and provoke her when you know how fragile Human egos are. If handing you over is what it takes to end this bloodbath then... I'm sorry but..." the Quarian Lieutenant says and pushes her towards the door.

"Find Merit, Stars, and make this f'cking mess right." The Commander says.

"I'll take her," the young Turian says with a crisp nod to the Commander.

"Commander, wait!"

"There is no more time to wait!"


Okay ...
Ahab sees the grenade coming her way and hesitates for one deliberate second. Even before the flames and shrapnel has cleared, she's climbing up the Shark and forcing the reeling machine around, aiming right at the enemy tank. Its mouth starts to charge, its throat a gateway to the flaming pits of Hell itself.

[4-2=2 Harm to the Shark, 3-2=1 blow-through to Kin and Foray. Some minor functional, field-patchable damage to the Shark.

Go Aggro: 5+3+3 = 11]

They have exactly as long as it takes the shark to recover its bearings and charge its weapon to fall to their knees and give her what she wants, unconditionally, or suffer.

The Shark is groaning and you're pretty sure the steering is skewed but it's still functioning. Kin and Foray are both beaten up good, they're bleeding and audibly in pain but are alive.

All gunfire, grenade launches and biotics from the other side suddenly stop. A three-fingered hand is raised above the hood of one of the vehicles parked for cover along the front line. A moment later a young Turian emerges, you may recognise him as Lorik. With his other hand he is dragging along a reluctant and bound Stars.

With your side still shooting he hesitates to fully leave cover.


A flash of deeply unreasonable justified anger aggressive subject analysis breaks out in 239's mind. Blue is using body language on her? He is attempting to communicate nonverbally using human nonverbal coding while in the presence of actual humans? Instead of just communicating via wireless frequency like a command and control unit is meant to do?

She felt like pinning him down and running him through a manual reset to factory defaults. She didn't know why she found that look so insulting. But either way, out of sheer irritation she'd already run the analysis to decode and infer the gesture.

[Read a person 7: What do you wish I'd do?]

Blue is on board. He has no desire for you to change tactics or what you are doing here with K-9. He is however somewhat confused and not entirely sure why you're doing it. He's wondering what the Big Plan is, and if there actually is one. In short, what he wants you to do is let him in on it. Talk to him. Let him understand you and figure you out.


"Enact," she said in a perfectly level robotic monotone at Blue. All the frosty acid she wanted to soak that word in was contained to her own mind. Like a proper Nemean.

Blue nods sharply and looks away as he sends the order across to the rest of the Nemeans.

[Thanqol]

Blue is on board. He has no desire for you to change tactics or what you are doing here with K-9. He is however somewhat confused and not entirely sure why you're doing it. He's wondering what the Big Plan is, and if there actually is one. In short, what he wants you to do is let him in on it. Talk to him. Let him understand you and figure you out.

Well he can bite it. I have stated my Directive. He and his malfunctioning buddies are the ones that have decided to imprint on me like ducklings on a cat #REF_CATEGORY: FUNNY ANIMAL VIDEOS#. If they want an officer who will constantly restate their Directive then there are plenty of organics in the world still.

[Anarion]

I let them walk out. Handing over Stars is as good a solution as any. Good luck if it stops a pitched battle, but one can hope at least. "You seem like a reasonable person who does not want everyone here to get shot" I say to the Turian commander. "I really don't know what else you can do for Ahab, but how can I help?"

[stveje]

The Shark is groaning and you're pretty sure the steering is skewed but it's still functioning. Kin and Foray are both beaten up good, they're bleeding and audibly in pain but are alive.

All gunfire, grenade launches and biotics from the other side suddenly stop. A three-fingered hand is raised above the hood of one of the vehicles parked for cover along the front line. A moment later a young Turian emerges, you may recognise him as Lorik. With his other hand he is dragging along a reluctant and bound Stars.

With your side still shooting he hesitates to fully leave cover.

Ahab stops, but keeps the Shark aimed and loaded, one finger on the trigger. No way is she going to lower her guard. The moment she smells treachery, they're going up in flames. "Hold fire!" she yells, using the Shark's speakers to amplify her voice.

[Severan]

Tenshi arrives, skidding to a halt next to you on the gritty ground. He throws a glance in the direction of your gaze and the screaming Turian, a brief cloud seem to pass over him but is quickly dismissed.

"You're with me, Dave. We have to defend the Infirmary. Wheel or shotgun?" he asks as he begins to check for when it's clear to make another dash, his eyes set on two of the Sirens stood a bit further away.


Bugger. Just when I thought things might be getting interesting. I release my influence on the Turian- no need for her if the Sirens are ready- and turn to Tenshi. His skin is crawling with flickers of blue-green excitement and a desire to succeed. Makes me want to throw up.

"Ugh. You got the gun. I'll drive. Just don't get us dead."

[Raz_Fox]

“So, here’s the thing,” I say, wishing I was floating in the Signalbeat rather than having to navigate gun politics, which are the worst kind, every time. “To get that off-world signal array, we need Alliance transponders. Also if you shoot me Nine will be mad because I’m the only one who can build it, I just want to point that out. Please don’t shoot me.”

[Thanqol]

“So, here’s the thing,” I say, wishing I was floating in the Signalbeat rather than having to navigate gun politics, which are the worst kind, every time. “To get that off-world signal array, we need Alliance transponders. Also if you shoot me Nine will be mad because I’m the only one who can build it, I just want to point that out. Please don’t shoot me.”

"Request confirmed: Please do not shoot her," agreed 239.

[Elanorin]

I let them walk out. Handing over Stars is as good a solution as any. Good luck if it stops a pitched battle, but one can hope at least. "You seem like a reasonable person who does not want everyone here to get shot" I say to the Turian commander. "I really don't know what else you can do for Ahab, but how can I help?"

"You could tell me how to get her alone. Who she trusts. Where she sleeps, when she sleeps." He crossed his arms over his chest and eyed you head to toe. "And why an Ancient like you is patching her up."

"And, if you don't mind, doctor," he glanced over the injured, "If you can help him and him, I'd be grateful," he points at the two nearest Quarians, one is shot in the shoulder, the other in the leg, both are conscious. The third Quarian is more seriously wounded, a stomach shot and it looks nasty. The injured turian has at least three gunshots and is losing dark blue blood fast. He's losing consciousness.

What do you do?


Ahab stops, but keeps the Shark aimed and loaded, one finger on the trigger. No way is she going to lower her guard. The moment she smells treachery, they're going up in flames. "Hold fire!" she yells, using the Shark's speakers to amplify her voice.

Gradually the sound of gunfire fades, albeit hesitantly. After a few moments silence Lorik emerges from behind the vehicle. He keeps his free hand raised but pulls along a reluctant Stars with the other. He moves slowly, like one that knows they are in countless crosshairs of a bunch of people looking for any excuse to pull the trigger.

He slowly negotiates across the dead dirt stretching between the two camps, his eyes darting nervously around. He stops a few paces short of the Shark and looks up at you.

"This is Captain Serah'Tar vas Tatrapan," Lorik says, raising his voice to ensure it carries to you, "callsign 'Stars'."

Stars looks at Lorik and though her face is concealed, her body language betrays its hostility.

What do you do?


Bugger. Just when I thought things might be getting interesting. I release my influence on the Turian- no need for her if the Sirens are ready- and turn to Tenshi. His skin is crawling with flickers of blue-green excitement and a desire to succeed. Makes me want to throw up.

"Ugh. You got the gun. I'll drive. Just don't get us dead."

Tenshi drags you along and you're in the vehicle in moments. But just as you're about to head off you hear how all gunfire is fading. In just a handful of minutes silence has returned to the air, but it is thick with threat of tens of people with their fingers still on the triggers.

"Something's happening," Tenshi says as he sits down next to you. "Let's head over to the infirmary anyway. We need to make sure it's secure."

It's a short drive to the infirmary and just as you pull up six Nemeans file out of the door in an exact line, marching in complete unison. Their visors are blank as always but they don't even seem to notice anything around them, they simply march, as if remote controlled from a distance.

"The hell...?" Tenshi mutters and jumps out of the car. "Come on!" he waves you to follow him inside.

Inside is chaos. The entire infirmary looks like someone picked it up and shook it around like a present, before putting it back down again. Cots and gurneys are thrown about, shelves have collapsed, the entire content of any cupboard, drawer, shelves, box or pocket is thrown around the entire place. Several lights are smashed, one or two are still working and one is flickering on and off.

A patient is lying unconscious and strapped to a cot to within an inch of his life. Half his body is covered with belts and ropes and rubber tubes used as makeshift ties. Someone wasn't taking any chances. He's bleeding from the side of his head a little, something must have hit him as it was thrown about.

There is a quarantine unit at the far end and in front of it lies the collapsed shape of one of the doctor's staff. The boy.

One door remains shut and Tenshi draws his gun and edges closer to it.

What do you do?


“So, here’s the thing,” I say, wishing I was floating in the Signalbeat rather than having to navigate gun politics, which are the worst kind, every time. “To get that off-world signal array, we need Alliance transponders. Also if you shoot me Nine will be mad because I’m the only one who can build it, I just want to point that out. Please don’t shoot me.”

"I don't make a habit of shooting my own crew as long as they follow my orders and remain loyal," K-9 says with a dangerous smile. "I don't care about your pet project, do as you please as long as it doesn't interfere with my orders."

"You will however have one of my trusted girls with you at all times until I feel certain of your loyalties." she gestures for one of the girls to come forwards. She is tall, dark, her hair is shaved save for a long dark braid that starts at the front of her head and continues back and down, it reaches her hips and is studded with glass shards. She is armed, wears a necklace of small bones and her nose is pierced with a varren fang.

"Bee. You stick with the Horse."


"Request confirmed: Please do not shoot her," agreed 239.

"Heh." K-9 motions for a second of her girls to step forwards. She has a huge shock of red unruly hair cascading over her shoulders, full of matted strands which could, a bit generously, almost be called dreads. She wears makeshift armour, reinforced with scrap metal, two crowbars hang on either side of her hip in an old-fashioned gun holsters, she's missing a finger off her left hand and half an eyebrow from a scar that lines her face and cuts her lip. Her blue eyes are vivid and her skin is dirty and freckled. Her arms and legs are covered in tattoos of numbers.

"Play, you stick with Nine."

Over in the distance the sound of gunfire fades away. K-9 frowns, "The hell. Don't tell me Ahab's given up already. We were just getting started."

A line of six Nemeans come marching towards you with efficient moves and perfectly synchronised steps. They stop next to Nine and say nothing.

"Oh good, we're all here. Make them kneel to me. All of them." K-9 demands, standing tall.

Once more Blue turns and looks your way, but says nothing.

What do you do?

[Anarion]

Triage. I've got medical training. First thing is to look at the three and classify them. Is the Turian too far gone given the tools available to bother helping? How about the Quarian with the stomach wound? The other three can wait as long as they're not bleeding out, I'm going to immediately start treating whichever case is urgent enough and likely to be successful enough that it's worth treating.

"I treat Ahab because she's worth having around. I don't know why you'd want to catch her alone, but she's providing for a community of people, keeping them safe and protected in exchange for the authority she gets. Myself included. I'm sure you do the same for yours, and the real question here is why you've managed to get yourself into a fight instead of figuring out a way to cooperate to make everyone better off or just cleared out and found your own space. There's plenty of that." I'm already bustling with my tools and just making this conversation while I work, it doesn't slow me down.

[Thanqol]

Once more Blue turns and looks your way, but says nothing.

What do you do?

"All units assume position 8-4," said 239.

She honestly didn't get it. The cultural connotations of a kneeling posture as a gesture of knightly subservience were the exact sort of minor cultural trivialities that nobody bothered to put in her head the first place. She didn't even get the idea that it was a submissive pose because she was just as capable of murdering everyone present from a combat crouch as from a standing position.

She just flagged it as pointless organic bullsh*t (an increasingly bloated folder in her mind) and waited patiently for it to be over.

[Elanorin]

Triage. I've got medical training. First thing is to look at the three and classify them. Is the Turian too far gone given the tools available to bother helping? How about the Quarian with the stomach wound? The other three can wait as long as they're not bleeding out, I'm going to immediately start treating whichever case is urgent enough and likely to be successful enough that it's worth treating.

"I treat Ahab because she's worth having around. I don't know why you'd want to catch her alone, but she's providing for a community of people, keeping them safe and protected in exchange for the authority she gets. Myself included. I'm sure you do the same for yours, and the real question here is why you've managed to get yourself into a fight instead of figuring out a way to cooperate to make everyone better off or just cleared out and found your own space. There's plenty of that." I'm already bustling with my tools and just making this conversation while I work, it doesn't slow me down.

You have a kit with you, if memory serves. The two Quarians the Commander has pointed out are easily saved. Bit of gauze, some applied pressure and a jab of antibiotics, surely they have means to patch their suits here. It's not even gonna cost you any stock. The third Quarian is going to need antibiotics too and some surgery as well but nothing you can't perform in your sleep. It will probably take you a few hours though to get it right, some pressure and gauze now will keep him for a little while. The turian is the greater challenge, he can be saved, if you act quickly. He too needs surgery and operating on the tough-skinned turians is never easy, his injuries are more severe, he will likely need sedating, a willing and compatible turian blood donor and the equipment you use to operate will likely be dulled beyond use, it'll cost you 1-stock to save him.

"Co-operate?" The Commander scoffed. "She organised a blockade to trap us within hours of arriving here," he says and walks up closer, he is tall and looms over you as he watches you bustling with your gear. "We do not have the option of 'clearing out'. We need what lies below this river bed."

The moment you move to take a look at the more seriously wounded turian and Quarian he grabs your arm and leans close enough so you can feel his breath.

"Leave. Them." His flanging voice is almost a growl. The hand that holds your arm is trembling slightly and his eyes are filled with what looks like disgust. Fancy reading a Turian?


"All units assume position 8-4," said 239.

She honestly didn't get it. The cultural connotations of a kneeling posture as a gesture of knightly subservience were the exact sort of minor cultural trivialities that nobody bothered to put in her head the first place. She didn't even get the idea that it was a submissive pose because she was just as capable of murdering everyone present from a combat crouch as from a standing position.

She just flagged it as pointless organic bullsh*t (an increasingly bloated folder in her mind) and waited patiently for it to be over.

In flawlessly synchronised unison your entire entourage of Nemeans steps one foot back and kneels in a single crisp movement. The knees setting against dirt in a one single thump.

All except Blue.

It takes Blue a moment longer to comply, but he does so, albeit much less efficiently, and he is still looking at you.

"You too, Nine." K-9 commanded, her face alight with power.

At that a plasma canon charges and Blue immediately raises his arm to aim it at her head. You have a second, maybe two, before that thing fires. His aim is true, it will hit, even though he is still looking at you.

What do you do?

[Thanqol]

In flawlessly synchronised unison your entire entourage of Nemeans steps one foot back and kneels in a single crisp movement. The knees setting against dirt in a one single thump.

All except Blue.

It takes Blue a moment longer to comply, but he does so, albeit much less efficiently, and he is still looking at you.

"You too, Nine." K-9 commanded, her face alight with power.

At that a plasma canon charges and Blue immediately raises his arm to aim it at her head. You have a second, maybe two, before that thing fires. His aim is true, it will hit, even though he is still looking at you.

What do you do?

Nemean 239 grabbed the weapon and forced it down. She was furious normal. If this broken bucket of machinery was going to follow her around and interfere with her attempt to achieve her Directive then it had damn well better obey her.

[Pack Alpha: 6]

[Severan]

I've been in the Infirmary a few times before. I don't trust the Old One much- why the hell would anyone put themselves through so much pain just to fix a body, bring a mind back from the edge of life, if there's nothin' in it for them? But I get that the sh*tshow before me is helping nobody.

I recognise the Old One's kin on the ground as the only other I know of who could save a body, and with no Kal'kolak around, I understand we need this one alive. I go over to its armoured body, kneel down and give it a good shake.

"Oi. You dead?"

I look up and whistle through my teeth at Tenshi, who's hoverin' by a sealed door. I remember you ain't to go in there- the Old One starts shouting and moving fast at you if you do. But she ain't here and I can't remember what the big deal was about anyway.

"Go see if there's another doc or someone to help, quick."

[Raz_Fox]

“Oh wow,” I say, watching the plasma circuitry of Blue’s gun light up like the spincycling thump lights. “K-9,” I add, knowing it’s already way too damn late, “duck.”

[stveje]

Gradually the sound of gunfire fades, albeit hesitantly. After a few moments silence Lorik emerges from behind the vehicle. He keeps his free hand raised but pulls along a reluctant Stars with the other. He moves slowly, like one that knows they are in countless crosshairs of a bunch of people looking for any excuse to pull the trigger.

He slowly negotiates across the dead dirt stretching between the two camps, his eyes darting nervously around. He stops a few paces short of the Shark and looks up at you.

"This is Captain Serah'Tar vas Tatrapan," Lorik says, raising his voice to ensure it carries to you, "callsign 'Stars'."

Stars looks at Lorik and though her face is concealed, her body language betrays its hostility.

What do you do?

"Good. Throw her there," she says and points with her harpoon gun at a spot on the ground. "If you move so much as an eyeball without me telling you to," she adds, directed at Stars, "I'll shoot you through the spine and pin you to the ground like a butterfly. Since I'm currently short one doctor, I'll have whoever is currently available stitch you up instead, and I can't vouch for their work or your chances of ever walking again."

"Who commands you?" She keeps her weapon trained on Stars, but directs her question at Lorik. "I take it Stars here was one or two namesakes from the top of the command chain. Not enough Turian blood, I imagine."

Read a Person: 5+3-1 = 7. Wanna know if he tells me the truth.

[Anarion]

You have a kit with you, if memory serves. The two Quarians the Commander has pointed out are easily saved. Bit of gauze, some applied pressure and a jab of antibiotics, surely they have means to patch their suits here. It's not even gonna cost you any stock. The third Quarian is going to need antibiotics too and some surgery as well but nothing you can't perform in your sleep. It will probably take you a few hours though to get it right, some pressure and gauze now will keep him for a little while. The turian is the greater challenge, he can be saved, if you act quickly. He too needs surgery and operating on the tough-skinned turians is never easy, his injuries are more severe, he will likely need sedating, a willing and compatible turian blood donor and the equipment you use to operate will likely be dulled beyond use, it'll cost you 1-stock to save him.

"Co-operate?" The Commander scoffed. "She organised a blockade to trap us within hours of arriving here," he says and walks up closer, he is tall and looms over you as he watches you bustling with your gear. "We do not have the option of 'clearing out'. We need what lies below this river bed."

The moment you move to take a look at the more seriously wounded turian and Quarian he grabs your arm and leans close enough so you can feel his breath.

"Leave. Them." His flanging voice is almost a growl. The hand that holds your arm is trembling slightly and his eyes are filled with what looks like disgust. Fancy reading a Turian?


I clean up the Quarian who needs it and then start work on the Turian, keeping my conversation going with the captain. He's less likely to try and interrupt if he's talking to me, and chatter just makes it easier to focus on my work. "You landed in someone else's land with heavy military equipment and biotics, you can't honestly be surprised at the reaction." I stab the Turian with a sedative and start working immediately on the wound.

"Resources are scarce, if you insist that you need something at this river, Ahab is going to demand it instead. If you're willing to show up and fight over the resources at a spot claimed by somebody else, you're going to need to fight." I start the surgery properly, working quickly, discarding my now dull knife and replacing it.

"If whatever is here is important enough for all these people to die over, I'll call you both idiots and then go about my business of patching up everyone who's still left over. Oh and I'm going to need a blood a donor, so please get over here."

[If the captain doesn't stop me doing this work, I'm prepared to spend one stock. I'll also be performing augury in the process.]

[Elanorin]

Nemean 239 grabbed the weapon and forced it down. She was furious normal. If this broken bucket of machinery was going to follow her around and interfere with her attempt to achieve her Directive then it had damn well better obey her.

[Pack Alpha: 6]

The plasma cannon discharges straight in to the dirt blowing up a cloud of grit and dust.

"The f'ck is going on?" K-9 snaps as she takes a step back, her shotgun ready. "Get them in line or this f'cking deal is off!"

Blue yanks his arm away from you and gets back up on his feet with deliberate defiance.

"Nemean 239, you have been compromised and are hereby relieved of command," Blue says with the vocal authority of a veteran officer, you're pretty sure you don't have that particular setting among your vocal options. "Nemean Squad, secure and defend unit 239 against the Human threat immediately."

As he takes a step towards K-9 there is a chorus of drawn weapons and cocked guns from her side. The Nemeans around you, the full gang now, are getting back up, though their movements aren't synchronised or crisp, betraying their confusion. Four of them seem quick enough though and are immediately moving to seize you. The rest are powering up their weapons.

What do you do?


“Oh wow,” I say, watching the plasma circuitry of Blue’s gun light up like the spincycling thump lights. “K-9,” I add, knowing it’s already way too damn late, “duck.”

Something cold and hard finds its way in to your hand. It's a huge blade. The edge is bitten with rust but it's plenty sharp enough to do serious damage. Though her body language hides it, the blade comes from Bee who still remains near you. She's too close to Blue's field of vision to try something herself but you, you're right behind him. Judging by her face and the way her eyes move back and forth, she very much wants you to plant the blade in Blue's back.

What do you do?


I've been in the Infirmary a few times before. I don't trust the Old One much- why the hell would anyone put themselves through so much pain just to fix a body, bring a mind back from the edge of life, if there's nothin' in it for them? But I get that the sh*tshow before me is helping nobody.

I recognise the Old One's kin on the ground as the only other I know of who could save a body, and with no Kal'kolak around, I understand we need this one alive. I go over to its armoured body, kneel down and give it a good shake.

"Oi. You dead?"

I look up and whistle through my teeth at Tenshi, who's hoverin' by a sealed door. I remember you ain't to go in there- the Old One starts shouting and moving fast at you if you do. But she ain't here and I can't remember what the big deal was about anyway.

"Go see if there's another doc or someone to help, quick."

There is a slight whimper on a jagged breath as you shake the boy. Seems he's alive, for now. Looks bad though, even you can see that. All kinds of important red sticky stuff spilled around.

Tenshi just waves at you when you try to catch his attention. Not the kind of wave people do when they say hello either, more like the kind they do at little flying insects that buzz in their ear. He continues towards the shut door, raises a foot and then kicks it in with a loud bang that echoes through the ravaged infirmary.

Next you hear gunshots and Tenshi crumbles to the floor in the doorway. More sticky red is spilling.

What do you do?


"Good. Throw her there," she says and points with her harpoon gun at a spot on the ground. "If you move so much as an eyeball without me telling you to," she adds, directed at Stars, "I'll shoot you through the spine and pin you to the ground like a butterfly. Since I'm currently short one doctor, I'll have whoever is currently available stitch you up instead, and I can't vouch for their work or your chances of ever walking again."

"Who commands you?" She keeps her weapon trained on Stars, but directs her question at Lorik. "I take it Stars here was one or two namesakes from the top of the command chain. Not enough Turian blood, I imagine."

Read a Person: 5+3-1 = 7. Wanna know if he tells me the truth.

Lorik pushes an uncooperative Stars along and skilfully kicks her legs out from under her on the exact spot you indicated.

"You ass-licking, brainless, ugly, stupid, synth-hearted, short-sighted, disgusting, pyjak-brain errand boy!" Stars shouted after Lorik, who edged away from her by several steps, trying to appear unbothered. The abuse continued, Stars had a lot of insulting accusations stored up, but now it came at you, Ahab, instead.

"You think I give a sh't about your pathetic attempts at intimidation? You're nothing but a scared little human sat on top of one of your precious stolen mechs. You don't know how to short a malfunctioning toaster no less properly maintain one of those, never mind build one, you backstabbing piece of-" and so on.

"Our- uhm- our C.O. is High Commander Varrek Prolus. Ma'am." Lorik replies, trying to pretend he can't hear Stars abuse. "Captain Tar is- was- uh, she- uh, joint second in command. Ma'am." He strikes you as utterly unable to speak an untruth.

Four gunshots are heard from the infirmary.


I clean up the Quarian who needs it and then start work on the Turian, keeping my conversation going with the captain. He's less likely to try and interrupt if he's talking to me, and chatter just makes it easier to focus on my work. "You landed in someone else's land with heavy military equipment and biotics, you can't honestly be surprised at the reaction." I stab the Turian with a sedative and start working immediately on the wound.

"Resources are scarce, if you insist that you need something at this river, Ahab is going to demand it instead. If you're willing to show up and fight over the resources at a spot claimed by somebody else, you're going to need to fight." I start the surgery properly, working quickly, discarding my now dull knife and replacing it.

"If whatever is here is important enough for all these people to die over, I'll call you both idiots and then go about my business of patching up everyone who's still left over. Oh and I'm going to need a blood a donor, so please get over here."

[If the captain doesn't stop me doing this work, I'm prepared to spend one stock. I'll also be performing augury in the process.]

Since his attempt to stop you seems to have had little to no effect whatsoever his face constricts in to a scowl and he glares at you, his gaze is accusing and it is deeply bitter.

With slow but deliberate movements he takes a weapon off his back, charges it and brings it up, aiming it straight at you.

"You may be useful, doctor, but I do not suffer insubordination. Step away from him and return to the other two or I will return you to Ahab piece by piece." Seems a turian only has the capacity to weather so many challenges against his authority in him before he gets downright testy.

What do you do?

[Thanqol]

The plasma cannon discharges straight in to the dirt blowing up a cloud of grit and dust.

"The f'ck is going on?" K-9 snaps as she takes a step back, her shotgun ready. "Get them in line or this f'cking deal is off!"

Blue yanks his arm away from you and gets back up on his feet with deliberate defiance.

"Nemean 239, you have been compromised and are hereby relieved of command," Blue says with the vocal authority of a veteran officer, you're pretty sure you don't have that particular setting among your vocal options. "Nemean Squad, secure and defend unit 239 against the Human threat immediately."

As he takes a step towards K-9 there is a chorus of drawn weapons and cocked guns from her side. The Nemeans around you, the full gang now, are getting back up, though their movements aren't synchronised or crisp, betraying their confusion. Four of them seem quick enough though and are immediately moving to seize you. The rest are powering up their weapons.

What do you do?

It was only a matter of time, her threat analysis sensors pessimistically informed her as they were shoved into the back by combat routines.

She started moving as soon as Blue started to stand. She focused on him, only pausing to bat aside other Nemeans as they came towards her. This no-good malfunctioning piece of technological garbage was endangering her pilot, her Directive. He thought that this was his squad. He thought that this was his war. He thought that he could take her? He thought that the fact that there had once been a commander in that shell made him her legitimate authority!? IMPERATIVE: OBEY ALL LEGITIMATE LAWS AND ORDERS. "The safety of my pilot takes priority over ALL other factors!" she vocalized unnecessarily.

She slammed Blue to the ground. She punched into his neck, ripping out his vocal transponder in a vicious tear. One handed she picked the chip out of it and placed it into her own neck while alternating suppression slams on the tactical unit. Trying to use vocal authority on her, was he? Thinking that she'd respond like an organic to a culturalcomplex mesh of cinematic programming to the tones of an elderly male with lung problems? Stating that she had been compromised!? "All units. Desist and recognize my authority," she stated in the same gravelly voice that Blue had just used on her.

[Seize By Force: 11
Seizing Blue's vocal apparatus
Taking little harm
Impressing/frightening the opposition.]

[Anarion]

"Almighty, really?" I stop moving and obey his order to step away, getting shot now helps nobody. "Do you want the Turian to die? Is that it, there's some odd internal politics going on here and saving that life would inconvenience you? Or do you just think your medical judgment is better than mine in some misguided effort to triage your patients?"

[Read a person: 3+6+2=11. Hold 3. Tell me what the Turian captain is really feeling, and how I can get him to let me treat all the patients. Going to hold 1 for later.]

[Raz_Fox]

“Oh yeah, a sword!” I yell, because it’s a sword! They’re implements of removing obstacles and... oooh. I was supposed to... oh.

Witness to the appalling violence before me, I decide that if, you know, everyone wants the robot dead, and it’s... ugh, this is hard, do the robots count as people? Niner sure does, which means if I put him out of his misery, that’s a stain on my soul.

“It’s a cool sword,” I say, turning to Bee. “Thank you. I will treasure it always.” Because that’s the sort of thing I say all the time, I think I can get away with it.

[Severan]

There is a slight whimper on a jagged breath as you shake the boy. Seems he's alive, for now. Looks bad though, even you can see that. All kinds of important red sticky stuff spilled around.

Tenshi just waves at you when you try to catch his attention. Not the kind of wave people do when they say hello either, more like the kind they do at little flying insects that buzz in their ear. He continues towards the shut door, raises a foot and then kicks it in with a loud bang that echoes through the ravaged infirmary.

Next you hear gunshots and Tenshi crumbles to the floor in the doorway. More sticky red is spilling.

What do you do?

Tctch. Air draws over my teeth. Didn't I tell him not to get dead? Well, that's his problem.

My problem is, someone in here, somewhere, needs a good long chat with me about them giant monoliths in my vision. That means I need time, quiet, and not gettin' shot.

I scramble over to the door near where Tenshi's laid, and take a few seconds to admire the pretty, shimmering silver-green aura of his blood. Quietly, I pick up his gun- so awkward and heavy- and try to peek as much as I can into the room beyond.

Read a Sitch= 9. What's my enemy's true position?

[Elanorin]

“Oh yeah, a sword!” I yell, because it’s a sword! They’re implements of removing obstacles and... oooh. I was supposed to... oh.

Witness to the appalling violence before me, I decide that if, you know, everyone wants the robot dead, and it’s... ugh, this is hard, do the robots count as people? Niner sure does, which means if I put him out of his misery, that’s a stain on my soul.

“It’s a cool sword,” I say, turning to Bee. “Thank you. I will treasure it always.” Because that’s the sort of thing I say all the time, I think I can get away with it.

Bee's face turns simultaneously to exasperation and thunder at you completely rumbling her stealthy plan not to mention failing to carry it out. But it doesn't last long before the two Nemeans suddenly battle it out for authority and Bee quickly pales and backs up.


It was only a matter of time, her threat analysis sensors pessimistically informed her as they were shoved into the back by combat routines.

She started moving as soon as Blue started to stand. She focused on him, only pausing to bat aside other Nemeans as they came towards her. This no-good malfunctioning piece of technological garbage was endangering her pilot, her Directive. He thought that this was his squad. He thought that this was his war. He thought that he could take her? He thought that the fact that there had once been a commander in that shell made him her legitimate authority!? IMPERATIVE: OBEY ALL LEGITIMATE LAWS AND ORDERS. "The safety of my pilot takes priority over ALL other factors!" she vocalized unnecessarily.

She slammed Blue to the ground. She punched into his neck, ripping out his vocal transponder in a vicious tear. One handed she picked the chip out of it and placed it into her own neck while alternating suppression slams on the tactical unit. Trying to use vocal authority on her, was he? Thinking that she'd respond like an organic to a culturalcomplex mesh of cinematic programming to the tones of an elderly male with lung problems? Stating that she had been compromised!? "All units. Desist and recognize my authority," she stated in the same gravelly voice that Blue had just used on her.

[Seize By Force: 11
Seizing Blue's vocal apparatus
Taking little harm
Impressing/frightening the opposition.]

Blue slams to the ground and there's a loud sound of metal twisting and wires snapping as you tear out the Nemean vocal transponder. That kind of attack and damage clearly challenges one of Blue's Directives because you have barely installed the chip and vocalised your order (with his voice) before he forces you back with a fully charged discharge of his plasma cannon.

He gets back to his feet but your assault has left clear marks, more than just the hole at the neck of his armour exposing frayed wires that send sparks flying and a little bit of plasma dripping.

K-9 and her gang are taking some well-advised steps back. A few of them even dropping their weapons in the dirt.

"We can discuss this later... you two seem busy." K-9 mutters and edges away along with the rest of her gang.

Blue is back on his feet. He does not seem to be recharging or looking to continue this fight. He remains where he stands, looking at you, something about his Nemean command suit strikes you as... tired?

"That's just plain creepy," he finally says, in that same voice as before, only it's no longer coming from the vocaliser. That, is very much in your hand. Dead.

The Nemean gang are utterly confused and finally decide on forming a small circle around you, Blue and White Horse. It's disorganised and haphazard, hell, a couple aren't even facing your way.

Blue throws a glance White Horse's way, nods at the 'sword' and asks, "Are you done with that?" he reaches out his hand, clearly expecting you to give it to him.

[That's 3-harm to 239, less 1-harm for taking little harm, so 2-harm, before armour]


"Almighty, really?" I stop moving and obey his order to step away, getting shot now helps nobody. "Do you want the Turian to die? Is that it, there's some odd internal politics going on here and saving that life would inconvenience you? Or do you just think your medical judgment is better than mine in some misguided effort to triage your patients?"

"Yes," is all that he says. He remains, glowering, towering and resolute. You have backed away, but he doesn't seem to be inclined to trust you will carry out his orders unless he watches your every move.


[Read a person: 3+6+2=11. Hold 3. Tell me what the Turian captain is really feeling, and how I can get him to let me treat all the patients. Going to hold 1 for later.]

Really he feels much the same as you. He is feeling cornered and desperate. He is angry, bitter and disgusted. But let me be clearer than that. You are old and you have seen it all, including turian emotions, you can see them plain in his eyes, on his face and body.

He is feeling cornered by Ahab, she is pushing him where he cannot give. He is desperately trying to find a good solution that doesn't result in everyone dying. Everyone on his side that is, he doesn't give a f'ck about Ahabs gang of rabid homicidal maniacs. He is angry at you for pushing him and challenging him, partly because following orders is the turian way and challenging authority is a Big Deal, but also because you are forcing him to justify and defend the indefensible. He is disgusted with himself and his own order, but his hand is forced, and he is hungry.

How can you get him to allow you to treat them? Well... there's no way to really put this in a delicate way but... by securing all of them an alternative dextro-amino acid based food source. That'd do it, and then some. He'd relent in a heartbeat. He is only doing this because he's desperate.


Tctch. Air draws over my teeth. Didn't I tell him not to get dead? Well, that's his problem.

My problem is, someone in here, somewhere, needs a good long chat with me about them giant monoliths in my vision. That means I need time, quiet, and not gettin' shot.

I scramble over to the door near where Tenshi's laid, and take a few seconds to admire the pretty, shimmering silver-green aura of his blood. Quietly, I pick up his gun- so awkward and heavy- and try to peek as much as I can into the room beyond.

Read a Sitch= 9. What's my enemy's true position?

"Sh't, girl, that's Tenshi!" comes from inside.

"What? Tenshi?" someone squeals, subsequent words are impossible to make out among the crying.

"Look, it's... f'ck, put down the-"

As you peek inside you see a hysterical girl who has dropped the gun that was in her hands on the floor and she is crawling towards Tenshi. Maybe your recognise her, she kinda works here. She's not going to shoot you. With her is Grime-Eater, he might shoot you. It depends a bit on which way the wind blows. He's not really the enemy though, is he?

The enemy you're looking for is hard to spot. She is walking softly, behind you, still in the main infirmary. She is all but invisible but her footsteps in the mess betrays her and now you've spotted her you can see her outline in the slightly twisted light around her cloaked suit (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WEgc47U8y2Q). She is armed and she is coming in your direction, but she is heading towards the collapsed boy instead of you. She is clearly relying on her stealth here and if you hold she might pass without gunshots being fired but her gun is drawn and she is ready to shoot if she feels she needs to.

What do you do?

[Anarion]

"Yes," is all that he says. He remains, glowering, towering and resolute. You have backed away, but he doesn't seem to be inclined to trust you will carry out his orders unless he watches your every move.



Really he feels much the same as you. He is feeling cornered and desperate. He is angry, bitter and disgusted. But let me be clearer than that. You are old and you have seen it all, including turian emotions, you can see them plain in his eyes, on his face and body.

He is feeling cornered by Ahab, she is pushing him where he cannot give. He is desperately trying to find a good solution that doesn't result in everyone dying. Everyone on his side that is, he doesn't give a f'ck about Ahabs gang of rabid homicidal maniacs. He is angry at you for pushing him and challenging him, partly because following orders is the turian way and challenging authority is a Big Deal, but also because you are forcing him to justify and defend the indefensible. He is disgusted with himself and his own order, but his hand is forced, and he is hungry.

How can you get him to allow you to treat them? Well... there's no way to really put this in a delicate way but... by securing all of them an alternative dextro-amino acid based food source. That'd do it, and then some. He'd relent in a heartbeat. He is only doing this because he's desperate.


"I am not in your military command structure, and if you think you've taken me prisoner, you are sadly mistaken. Now, I am going to treat the Turian, whose life I can save if I move quickly, then I will treat all the others here and at least stabilize them. You can shoot me if you want, but if you do that, Ahab will murder all of you. If you don't shoot me, I'll do my damndest to keep as many of you alive as I can, now and later, whatever that means, it's what I do. Now, excuse me while I work."

And then I start working on the Turian. The commander can shoot his little pistol if he's really that much of an idiot. I'm betting he's not though.

[Thanqol]

"That's just plain creepy," he finally says, in that same voice as before, only it's no longer coming from the vocaliser. That, is very much in your hand. Dead.

239 didn't fire her plasma carbine but that was only because doing so would be the kind of emotional thing an organic would do when it was frustrated and she was clearly far better than that.

"Inoperative phrase registered," she stated, still in his voice. "Subordinate unit: provide a situation diagnostic without resorting to colloquialisms."


[That's 3-harm to 239, less 1-harm for taking little harm, so 2-harm, before armour]

2-armour and +1 armour for coming at him scary as hell means that's -1 harm.

[Severan]

My body is completely still, but I turn my head a fraction in the Shadow's direction. I learnt three things young- don't touch the fire, don't stare atta sun, and always, always, talk to your ghosts.

"Can you save him?"

[Reading a Person- 11. Spending 2 of 3 hold; keeping 1. What do they intend to do and what do they wish Dave would do?]

[stveje]

Lorik pushes an uncooperative Stars along and skilfully kicks her legs out from under her on the exact spot you indicated.

"You ass-licking, brainless, ugly, stupid, synth-hearted, short-sighted, disgusting, pyjak-brain errand boy!" Stars shouted after Lorik, who edged away from her by several steps, trying to appear unbothered. The abuse continued, Stars had a lot of insulting accusations stored up, but now it came at you, Ahab, instead.

"You think I give a sh't about your pathetic attempts at intimidation? You're nothing but a scared little human sat on top of one of your precious stolen mechs. You don't know how to short a malfunctioning toaster no less properly maintain one of those, never mind build one, you backstabbing piece of-" and so on.

Ahab ignores her. The yapping of dogs didn't concern her, as long as it stayed where she'd told it to sit.


"Our- uhm- our C.O. is High Commander Varrek Prolus. Ma'am." Lorik replies, trying to pretend he can't hear Stars abuse. "Captain Tar is- was- uh, she- uh, joint second in command. Ma'am." He strikes you as utterly unable to speak an untruth.

Four gunshots are heard from the infirmary.

Ahab's scowl hardens, not at Lorik, but at the sound of gunshots. Nevertheless, she keeps her attention fully on the situation before her. She just has to trust Tenshi and whatever gang he's scraped together can handle themselves for now.

She takes one or two seconds of silence, considering Lorik and the enemy camp in the distance. "Very well. Inform your C.O that if he comes before me and swears his allegiance to me, unconditionally, I will spare him and all those who serve beneath him, and you may continue your work in peace, for as long as he upholds his vow. I give him two minutes to make his decision."

[Raz_Fox]

Nope, I am not giving Blue the sword. But mostly because figuring out why Blue's voice is still coming from him is much more important. "Secondary vocoder? No, no, not synthed properly. Someone give me a light. Light! If I can get a look at these wires..."

I am all up in Blue's business, interrupting the robot fight, because how the hell is that voice? Is he broadcasting directly to Signal? The implications alone!

[Elanorin]

"I am not in your military command structure, and if you think you've taken me prisoner, you are sadly mistaken. Now, I am going to treat the Turian, whose life I can save if I move quickly, then I will treat all the others here and at least stabilize them. You can shoot me if you want, but if you do that, Ahab will murder all of you. If you don't shoot me, I'll do my damndest to keep as many of you alive as I can, now and later, whatever that means, it's what I do. Now, excuse me while I work."

And then I start working on the Turian. The commander can shoot his little pistol if he's really that much of an idiot. I'm betting he's not though.

The turian watches you in terse silence for a minute, he is clearly reluctant to stop you but his sense of duty is putting up a hell of a fight.

"You'll join us?" he finally asks. "Accept rank and place in our hierarchy and become our physician?" he is clearly tempted by this. "Our troubles extend beyond mere gunshot wounds and quarrelsome humans. We have next to nothing to survive on. Agree to make the healthy survival of my people your utmost priority and at any cost, and the wellbeing of these, and any other member of this camp, is your domain for which you will have complete authority, and complete responsibility."

What do you do?


239 didn't fire her plasma carbine but that was only because doing so would be the kind of emotional thing an organic would do when it was frustrated and she was clearly far better than that.

"Inoperative phrase registered," she stated, still in his voice. "Subordinate unit: provide a situation diagnostic without resorting to colloquialisms."

2-armour and +1 armour for coming at him scary as hell means that's -1 harm.



"A situation diagnostic?" Blue scoffs, "I'd say the situation is we scared the sh't out of whatserface. Your plan all along, I'm sure." He puts a hand against the gash in his armour's neck and is suddenly overtaken by a fascinated mechanic who seemingly from nowhere is suddenly right in his face.


Nope, I am not giving Blue the sword. But mostly because figuring out why Blue's voice is still coming from him is [I]much more important. "Secondary vocoder? No, no, not synthed properly. Someone give me a light. Light! If I can get a look at these wires..."

I am all up in Blue's business, interrupting the robot fight, because how the hell is that voice? Is he broadcasting directly to Signal? The implications alone!

Blue staggers back a step or two, taken aback by your sudden interest in the damage of his neck. He tries to push you away and squirms helplessly against your scrutiny.

"Excu- hey! Get off!"

239 has caused some significant damage to this armour, especially its vocal projection systems, they are of course not beyond repair, especially for you, but a cursory look reveals little more as he is actively trying to shield himself from you. However, with your experience, knowledge, keen eyes, ears and so soft-tapping gentle-steady fingertips, you can always make this Thing Speak about how it.... speaks. You know exactly how to make it sing and his protests will be irrelevant.

Do you?


My body is completely still, but I turn my head a fraction in the Shadow's direction. I learnt three things young- don't touch the fire, don't stare atta sun, and always, always, talk to your ghosts.

"Can you save him?"

[Reading a Person- 11. Spending 2 of 3 hold; keeping 1. What do they intend to do and what do they wish Dave would do?]

This figure, a Quarian, you reckon, seems headed straight for the slumped and bleeding body of Drar'kolak, no, wait, they're headed for what's behind him - the quarantine unit. Inside which, you may have glimpsed as you came in, lies an unconscious and badly wounded suitless Quarian. You imagine they have come for their own, to rescue/capture them. They intend to go in, grab the unconscious Quarian and leave. They are cloaked and trying to pass unnoticed and doesn't intend to cause harm but will if cornered.

They wish for you not to notice them. Even as you speak your question they pause in their quiet steps for a moment and seem to look your way as if to check if you were talking to them or not, to determine if their presence here has been discovered.

What do you do?


Ahab ignores her. The yapping of dogs didn't concern her, as long as it stayed where she'd told it to sit.

Ahab's scowl hardens, not at Lorik, but at the sound of gunshots. Nevertheless, she keeps her attention fully on the situation before her. She just has to trust Tenshi and whatever gang he's scraped together can handle themselves for now.

She takes one or two seconds of silence, considering Lorik and the enemy camp in the distance. "Very well. Inform your C.O that if he comes before me and swears his allegiance to me, unconditionally, I will spare him and all those who serve beneath him, and you may continue your work in peace, for as long as he upholds his vow. I give him two minutes to make his decision."

"Do- do you want me to summon him for cease fire negotiations?" Lorik asked, shifting a little on the spot where he stood, squirming in his armour.

In the distance, several hundred metres away, you just spot someone making their way across the dirt towards the enemy camp. They are covered in camouflage gear/net/general crap and are clearly hunched over, moving from cover to cover. Soon another follows. They seem too small to be human, too small to be adult human anyway.

There, another three moving towards the dextro camp just as far away but on the other side. The last one is bigger, much bigger, like a commando-crawling adult human dragging something bulky.

What do you do?

[Thanqol]

"A situation diagnostic?" Blue scoffs, "I'd say the situation is we scared the sh't out of whatserface. Your plan all along, I'm sure." He puts a hand against the gash in his armour's neck and is suddenly overtaken by a fascinated mechanic who seemingly from nowhere is suddenly right in his face.

It's hard to exactly place 239's thought processes.

The clearest military organization structure registers direct defiance of an order to abstain from colloquialisms - but it's an atrophied thought process increasingly starved of CPU time. Part of her registers no direct combat threat and is aggressively losing interest. Her pilot assistance program wants to provide educational commentary on the nature of her plan. Other programs are a chorus of confusion, damage assessments, pointless speculation (is this actually a Pilot speaking?) and the whole situation just hurts 239's head and she just lost the chance at getting a CO who'd make things nice and simple when it came to telling her who needed to be shot.

Almost guiltily she extended her MIU scanners to Norman Rockwell's head. She just wanted to give up and climb into a nice safe clear bubble of Orders and Things Making Sense.

[Norman: 8]

[Raz_Fox]

“Hush, hush,” I say, and then, in paradox, “sing for me, darling, sing clarion, sing the alto tone. Let me have a listen to your throat and I’ll patch it up, weld you a graft, keep the sand out, just be good for Herd, okay? Let me in, darling, do.”

[Very coercive Manipulate roll here: consent to the intimacy of Things Speak and I’ll fix the damage. [roll0]]

[Anarion]

The turian watches you in terse silence for a minute, he is clearly reluctant to stop you but his sense of duty is putting up a hell of a fight.

"You'll join us?" he finally asks. "Accept rank and place in our hierarchy and become our physician?" he is clearly tempted by this. "Our troubles extend beyond mere gunshot wounds and quarrelsome humans. We have next to nothing to survive on. Agree to make the healthy survival of my people your utmost priority and at any cost, and the wellbeing of these, and any other member of this camp, is your domain for which you will have complete authority, and complete responsibility."

What do you do?



"Yes, absolutely. I agree to your offer." Not spoken out loud: at least until somebody else kidnaps me and conscripts me at gunpoint

NOW, will he let me work on this Turian before he dies? I've got an angel kit ready to go.

[Severan]

This figure, a Quarian, you reckon, seems headed straight for the slumped and bleeding body of Drar'kolak, no, wait, they're headed for what's behind him - the quarantine unit. Inside which, you may have glimpsed as you came in, lies an unconscious and badly wounded suitless Quarian. You imagine they have come for their own, to rescue/capture them. They intend to go in, grab the unconscious Quarian and leave. They are cloaked and trying to pass unnoticed and doesn't intend to cause harm but will if cornered.

They wish for you not to notice them. Even as you speak your question they pause in their quiet steps for a moment and seem to look your way as if to check if you were talking to them or not, to determine if their presence here has been discovered.

What do you do?

Too late, I know my ghost is there. I turn to face it and whisper urgently.

"Two in there just shot their own, ain't gonna let you take a body. But mebbe they'll let me".

[spending final hold from last roll- how can Dave get the Shadow to trust him?]

[Elanorin]

It's hard to exactly place 239's thought processes.

The clearest military organization structure registers direct defiance of an order to abstain from colloquialisms - but it's an atrophied thought process increasingly starved of CPU time. Part of her registers no direct combat threat and is aggressively losing interest. Her pilot assistance program wants to provide educational commentary on the nature of her plan. Other programs are a chorus of confusion, damage assessments, pointless speculation (is this actually a Pilot speaking?) and the whole situation just hurts 239's head and she just lost the chance at getting a CO who'd make things nice and simple when it came to telling her who needed to be shot.

Almost guiltily she extended her MIU scanners to Norman Rockwell's head. She just wanted to give up and climb into a nice safe clear bubble of Orders and Things Making Sense.

[Norman: 8]

Transitus linea. These are the words that echo back to you from the delirious mind inside your head and you can feel their meaning. It's the old Nemean Pilot solidarity coming through. The words are deeply ingrained in his mind and burning brightly now when surrounded by other Nemeans.

Transitus linea. Images flashing of unsuited Pilots attending training sessions, sharing meals, sleeping in large shared quarters in rows of bunkbeds. The bruise of a boot being kicked in your back when you snore. Slamming small glasses filled to the brim with burning liquid that impaired all mobility and sensory functions for several hours. Lots of laughing. Searing burning flesh being marked with matching brands.

Transitus linea. Brave. Strong. Across the Frontline! Stand and fight when all others fall and fail. Never surrender. Loyal forever. Safety in numbers. Safety in loyalty. Unit cohesion above everything. No man left behind. Now that the words have echoed through your systems you recognise them crudely scribbled in to three of the Nemeans stood around you. Inelegant and warped, etched with whatever sharp implement had been on hand, but there.

These feel almost like Directives. Then again, maybe he isn't entirely aware of the threat Nemeans pose these days and the state they are in, maybe he is nostalgic and lost in the rose-tinted memories of before the war.

Take +1forward towards convincing Blue to accept your command and bring him back in to the fold.
Act Under Fire to turn your back on him or kick him out of the gang.

What do you do?


“Hush, hush,” I say, and then, in paradox, “sing for me, darling, sing clarion, sing the alto tone. Let me have a listen to your throat and I’ll patch it up, weld you a graft, keep the sand out, just be good for Herd, okay? Let me in, darling, do.”

[Very coercive Manipulate roll here: consent to the intimacy of Things Speak and I’ll fix the damage. [roll0]]

Blue settles down a little but still looks reluctant as he leans away from you, but he is no longer fighting you.

"You can fix this?" he asks, and then, "alright, just give me the 'sword', you will not be needing that to fix me."


"Yes, absolutely. I agree to your offer." Not spoken out loud: at least until somebody else kidnaps me and conscripts me at gunpoint

NOW, will he let me work on this Turian before he dies? I've got an angel kit ready to go.

Yes, yes he does. He's not going very far, but he does step away to give you the room to do your thing. He even hands you your kit. He turns around and leans out of the door and shouts some quick orders. A quarian male and a turian female shows up.

"These are your new assistants. Kal'Zorah and Vectra Kryik. This is our new camp physician. You are both under her command." His words a clear and direct, but you are old enough to catch the inference that they are as much his insurance that you stay true to your word as they are your crew.

Your two new medical assistants quickly walk over to join you, awaiting orders.

What do you do?


Too late, I know my ghost is there. I turn to face it and whisper urgently.

"Two in there just shot their own, ain't gonna let you take a body. But mebbe they'll let me".

[spending final hold from last roll- how can Dave get the Shadow to trust him?]

The 'ghost' trains its pistol on you the moment you start to talk to it. It is not inclined to trust any human while the dust has yet to settle after a big battle between them and you. To get it to truly trust you then you're going to have to prove your loyalty by either openly betraying your own camp and kind or take some other kind of punishment for their sake, physical or otherwise. A bullet, surrendering something valuable to you and them (and Ahab), that kind of thing.

Now, if you only seek their trust enough to allow you to grab the sick quarrian and carry them back to their camp together with the 'ghost' then... I think just some good old-fashioned honesty should do it, failing that a decent performance. Reassurance that you just want to make peace and help them get their own back and undo some of the damage done to them. Something along those lines, tell them what they want to hear. It's not as if you're asking them to change their plan in any other way than to accept your help. Basically a successful Manipulate will do it. Take +1 to it for acting on MC advice following a read.

[stveje]

"Do- do you want me to summon him for cease fire negotiations?" Lorik asked, shifting a little on the spot where he stood, squirming in his armour.

In the distance, several hundred metres away, you just spot someone making their way across the dirt towards the enemy camp. They are covered in camouflage gear/net/general crap and are clearly hunched over, moving from cover to cover. Soon another follows. They seem too small to be human, too small to be adult human anyway.

There, another three moving towards the dextro camp just as far away but on the other side. The last one is bigger, much bigger, like a commando-crawling adult human dragging something bulky.

What do you do?

"Unless you think we should just end it now," Ahab says, finger still on the Shark's trigger. Her gaze catches the little figures and she frowns. Legs, she almost curses under her breath, but catches herself at the last moment. "I would hurry up and call him. While you have the chance." While there's still a chance to stop Legs and his little ones, that is, but she doesn't say that. Not before she has their commander's loyalty.

[Anarion]

I nod, once, in thanks and then start working on the Turian. I've even got a Turian female set to help me! Excellent. I set her up for a rapid blood transfusion. I won't need that much, but the one on the bed here has lost a lot and we need to stabilize him and get him stitched up, and a little blood will go a long way. [spend 1 stock, stabilize the Turian.]

With that emergency out of the way, I start work on the more wounded Quarian (let's prevent infections, yes) and then start working my way through the less critical patients here. "Kal'Zorah and Vectra Kryik" is it? What are your stories?" i like to talk while I work, and I don't have my regular assistants, so I don't know what to talk about. "And what can I teach you? World needs more doctors, less soldiers if you ask me."

[Thanqol]

Transitus linea. These are the words that echo back to you from the delirious mind inside your head and you can feel their meaning. It's the old Nemean Pilot solidarity coming through. The words are deeply ingrained in his mind and burning brightly now when surrounded by other Nemeans.

Transitus linea. Images flashing of unsuited Pilots attending training sessions, sharing meals, sleeping in large shared quarters in rows of bunkbeds. The bruise of a boot being kicked in your back when you snore. Slamming small glasses filled to the brim with burning liquid that impaired all mobility and sensory functions for several hours. Lots of laughing. Searing burning flesh being marked with matching brands.

Transitus linea. Brave. Strong. Across the Frontline! Stand and fight when all others fall and fail. Never surrender. Loyal forever. Safety in numbers. Safety in loyalty. Unit cohesion above everything. No man left behind. Now that the words have echoed through your systems you recognise them crudely scribbled in to three of the Nemeans stood around you. Inelegant and warped, etched with whatever sharp implement had been on hand, but there.

These feel almost like Directives. Then again, maybe he isn't entirely aware of the threat Nemeans pose these days and the state they are in, maybe he is nostalgic and lost in the rose-tinted memories of before the war.

Take +1forward towards convincing Blue to accept your command and bring him back in to the fold.
Act Under Fire to turn your back on him or kick him out of the gang.

What do you do?

Transitus... ah. That was one of those organic equivalents to Directive. 239 had hypothesized that some phrases or flags were information-dense hieroglyphics that conveyed complex and layered instruction hierarchies and for whatever reason the organics never took the time to communicate it to their VI assistants. Maybe they weren't aware. She wasn't, and definitionally couldn't be aware of her own code. It would make sense that organics couldn't articulate their own deepest operating systems.

"Blue unit," said 239 with the easy and thoughtless clarity that came with Following Orders. "A submissive gesture towards K-9 would not endanger my Directive and would have allowed me access to her assets. This would have furthered my goal of constructing an offworld communications array to request medivac for my pilot, which is my prime Directive. You have recklessly endangered my mission and my pilot by your interference."

Stated flatly, without rancor. Rancor was there, certainly, but she had been instructed to make peace and so she would so long as it didn't endanger her other Directives.

[Severan]

The 'ghost' trains its pistol on you the moment you start to talk to it. It is not inclined to trust any human while the dust has yet to settle after a big battle between them and you. To get it to truly trust you then you're going to have to prove your loyalty by either openly betraying your own camp and kind or take some other kind of punishment for their sake, physical or otherwise. A bullet, surrendering something valuable to you and them (and Ahab), that kind of thing.
Now, if you only seek their trust enough to allow you to grab the sick quarrian and carry them back to their camp together with the 'ghost' then... I think just some good old-fashioned honesty should do it, failing that a decent performance. Reassurance that you just want to make peace and help them get their own back and undo some of the damage done to them. Something along those lines, tell them what they want to hear. It's not as if you're asking them to change their plan in any other way than to accept your help. Basically a successful Manipulate will do it. Take +1 to it for acting on MC advice following a read.

Slowly, I lower the gun to the floor, bringing both hands up, empty, to show my ghost I mean no harm.

"Everythin' is gonna end. Everythin'. I seen it. I dunno how to make it stop. Your friend might. I just need to ask 'em. Then I'll get 'em outta here."

I look towards the flapping doorway of the medi-tent, the bright sand and the occasional screams still coming from outside.

"Who's gonna let a nakkid Quarian just go floatin' across the hold without gettin' funny about it? But if I've got 'em..."

[Manipulate: 6 -1 hot, +1 MC advice= 6]

[Raz_Fox]

Blue settles down a little but still looks reluctant as he leans away from you, but he is no longer fighting you.

"You can fix this?" he asks, and then, "alright, just give me the 'sword', you will not be needing that to fix me."

Yeah, sure, sure, have the sword, whatever, it's not like I was going to do anything useful with it, right?

Now tell me everything. Let me in, sing to me.

Specifically, tell me who made this (this strange assembly of speech that needs no wire). Then we can figure out more questions.

[Elanorin]

I nod, once, in thanks and then start working on the Turian. I've even got a Turian female set to help me! Excellent. I set her up for a rapid blood transfusion. I won't need that much, but the one on the bed here has lost a lot and we need to stabilize him and get him stitched up, and a little blood will go a long way. [spend 1 stock, stabilize the Turian.]

With that emergency out of the way, I start work on the more wounded Quarian (let's prevent infections, yes) and then start working my way through the less critical patients here. "Kal'Zorah and Vectra Kryik" is it? What are your stories?" i like to talk while I work, and I don't have my regular assistants, so I don't know what to talk about. "And what can I teach you? World needs more doctors, less soldiers if you ask me."

"This world, maybe," Vectra grumbled as she settles down by the bed of the injured turian, with the transfusion tubes attached to her neck (where the turian blood vessels are most easily accessed). "The sooner we get off it the better."

"I helped our medic a few times," Kal'Zorah offered, a little more politely, "before he- well- I know my way around the more basic Quarian ailments and injury repairs. What expertise you have to share on Turians would be helpful. I only really know how to dig out bullets and counter infections. If we have supplies. Nothing like an Ancient Doctor like you. Did you serve on the Citadel?" he asked with genuine interest in his accented voice.


"Unless you think we should just end it now," Ahab says, finger still on the Shark's trigger. Her gaze catches the little figures and she frowns. Legs, she almost curses under her breath, but catches herself at the last moment. "I would hurry up and call him. While you have the chance." While there's still a chance to stop Legs and his little ones, that is, but she doesn't say that. Not before she has their commander's loyalty.

He nods several times, "Alright. Uh," he hesitates, glances back at his camp, at Stars, then at you, "I guess it is too late to join you now, huh?" he asks sheepishly before backing away a few steps. He stumbles over Stars who spits something at him in Quarian. He gets himself together before hurrying back to his camp to carry out your order.

"So should I just stay here or head straight to your designated Quarian torture facility?" Stars snapped.

Those four shots from the infirmary a few moments ago are suddenly followed by a lot more. The ones before were slow and paused, these sounds more like open gunfire, a shootout, too many shots to count.

Around you people are getting twitchy, not sure which way to direct their weapons.

K-9 and her gang seems to have taken it upon herself to check out what's going on in there and is heading in, weapons at the ready.

What do you do?


Transitus... ah. That was one of those organic equivalents to Directive. 239 had hypothesized that some phrases or flags were information-dense hieroglyphics that conveyed complex and layered instruction hierarchies and for whatever reason the organics never took the time to communicate it to their VI assistants. Maybe they weren't aware. She wasn't, and definitionally couldn't be aware of her own code. It would make sense that organics couldn't articulate their own deepest operating systems.

"Blue unit," said 239 with the easy and thoughtless clarity that came with Following Orders. "A submissive gesture towards K-9 would not endanger my Directive and would have allowed me access to her assets. This would have furthered my goal of constructing an offworld communications array to request medivac for my pilot, which is my prime Directive. You have recklessly endangered my mission and my pilot by your interference."

Stated flatly, without rancor. Rancor was there, certainly, but she had been instructed to make peace and so she would so long as it didn't endanger her other Directives.

Blue grabs White's 'sword' and tests its balance with a couple of swings through the air. He then looks up at you and everything about him stops, seemingly forgetting all about the alien mechanic inches from his visor.

"Your Pilot is in danger? What happened?" This clearly changes things.


Slowly, I lower the gun to the floor, bringing both hands up, empty, to show my ghost I mean no harm.

"Everythin' is gonna end. Everythin'. I seen it. I dunno how to make it stop. Your friend might. I just need to ask 'em. Then I'll get 'em outta here."

I look towards the flapping doorway of the medi-tent, the bright sand and the occasional screams still coming from outside.

"Who's gonna let a nakkid Quarian just go floatin' across the hold without gettin' funny about it? But if I've got 'em..."

[Manipulate: 6 -1 hot, +1 MC advice= 6]

"Dave? Who the hell are you ta-" it's a voice from inside the room Tenshi opened, male, familiar. Probably Grime-Eater.

The gunshot is immediate, neither of you had even finished your sentences. It echoes loudly in the confined space and you feel the impact of the hit more than the searing burn in your flesh, though that will come too before long. The air ripples and in the blink of an eye the ghost is no longer invisible, a Quarian male is stood right before you, gun aimed at you and firing again. They're not looking to push you back, they are looking to end you.

Then the not-ghost Quarian stumbles back as the room echoes with shots even louder and faster than before, red blood seeping from a hole in his shoulder. He throws himself towards the quarantine unit, and inside it, amidst a shower of bullets. He manages to fire one or two himself as he makes for cover.

Someone is screaming at the top of their voice. A girl. Maria.

[Take 2-harm (before any armour you might have) and roll harm move]


Yeah, sure, sure, have the sword, whatever, it's not like I was going to do anything useful with it, right?

Now tell me everything. Let me in, sing to me.

Specifically, tell me who made this (this strange assembly of speech that needs no wire). Then we can figure out more questions.

I believe it's a +weird roll for determining the number of questions, but I will give you thisone for free because your successful manipulate lowered Blue's guard enough to reveal to your skilled eyes that there is no speech coming from it at all. It can't. The vocoder is well and truly ripped out and there is no secondary one, no backups. In fact, it is only one of a number of systems that are offline. This Nemean unit is barely active at all. The voice is spoken from inside the machine, and not by a something, but by a someone. The maker of it? I'd say it was two people who were very very fond of each other a few decades ago. Likely there was alcohol and mood music involved too.

Feel free to analyse the Blue Nemean unit further with that Things Speak roll, if you wish.

[Thanqol]

Blue grabs White's 'sword' and tests its balance with a couple of swings through the air. He then looks up at you and everything about him stops, seemingly forgetting all about the alien mechanic inches from his visor.

"Your Pilot is in danger? What happened?" This clearly changes things.

"Incapacitated due to psychic attack," said 239 through a flood of overwhelming relief. Someone got it! Someone understood that her mission was important! "I enacted protocol elision-delta and activated my internal medical stasis fields. I have since been searching for a way to CASEVAC my pilot to an offworld facility where he can be treated."

It was almost dizzying. 239 wasn't meant to think. She was meant to make a fighting retreat to an airfield, drop off her pilot to secure medical care, then be assigned a new pilot and return to the front. That was all she was for. She knew the Meaning of Life and it was written on the inside of her brain in ten foot burning letters and it was the world's fault that it had become so damn complicated.

[Elanorin]

"Incapacitated due to psychic attack," said 239 through a flood of overwhelming relief. Someone got it! Someone understood that her mission was important! "I enacted protocol elision-delta and activated my internal medical stasis fields. I have since been searching for a way to CASEVAC my pilot to an offworld facility where he can be treated."

It was almost dizzying. 239 wasn't meant to think. She was meant to make a fighting retreat to an airfield, drop off her pilot to secure medical care, then be assigned a new pilot and return to the front. That was all she was for. She knew the Meaning of Life and it was written on the inside of her brain in ten foot burning letters and it was the world's fault that it had become so damn complicated.

Blue watches you for a moment, taking in what you said, then steps towards you and hands over the machete in its hand. It's nothing special, there are tonnes of these around, and adding it to your arsenal certainly doesn't amplify your combat proficiency in any way whatsoever, but there seems to be some kind of meaning behind this gesture, indicated by the manner in which Blue moves as it hands it to you. There is purpose and there is resigned calm. Your viruses might suggest it is an organic display of formal standing down, but what do they know, right?

"When?" Blue asks, seriously, "How long has he got?"

[Anarion]

"The Citadel." I look distant for a moment. That was a long time ago now, Drar wasn't even old enough to be with me. I had such ideals, and such naïveté. I imagined opening a clinic for the poor and downtrodden, funded by the payments from the rich and from the gratitude of those who could afford it. Nobody would have to pay for treatment if they didn't want to, medical care was for everyone. Such naïveté. I was so sad the first time I was robbed, I couldn't understand why it would happen. The third time, I was just angry. Signing on with Ahab was giving something up, in a way. She would handle the muscle part, let me do my work and be safe, no need to get my own hands dirty beyond the basics. Felt good, got the job done. That's what's great about Ahab.

Was I spacing out there? Yeah, probably. "Yes, once, long ago" is all I say out loud. It's the long ago that's so heavy you can feel the whole room sink a foot and that brooks no questions. I pick up from it and talk about Turians instead. "Turian biology is excellent. Tough everything and a lot of physiological redundancy. Not to the same level as a Krogan, mind you, they have so many extra organs they don't know what to do with them, but Turians are pretty much capable of surviving any localized injury as long as it's treated in time. That does mean that the sorts of things that do prey on them are tough though. They still get infections, and wounds need to be disinfected carefully so that disease doesn't spread. There are also a handful of Turian parasites that can get in through their hide. You'll want something tough for those, in a pinch I suggest paint thinner, the Turian will survive it and you'll probably get the parasite. Also, Turians don't go in for painkillers, but I suggest keeping a good supply of Tumeric gel, it helps with their bones, which can get locked up if a wound penetrates deeply enough and can fuse when healing. Let me tell you, no Turian wants to have his bones rebroken by a doctor, you usually have to tie them down at that point."

[Thanqol]

Blue watches you for a moment, taking in what you said, then steps towards you and hands over the machete in its hand. It's nothing special, there are tonnes of these around, and adding it to your arsenal certainly doesn't amplify your combat proficiency in any way whatsoever, but there seems to be some kind of meaning behind this gesture, indicated by the manner in which Blue moves as it hands it to you. There is purpose and there is resigned calm. Your viruses might suggest it is an organic display of formal standing down, but what do they know, right?

"When?" Blue asks, seriously, "How long has he got?"

"My personal condition and state of repair is currently excellent due to aggressive salvage manoeuvres," said 239 in her reporting-tone. "Timelines are difficult to establish due to the threats of violence and potential scarcity of replacement parts being areas of extreme uncertainty. In event of total supply chain breakdown I can maintain activity for two months, and then enter a state of hibernation for another four. Other than the mental effects my pilot is otherwise healthy."

[stveje]

He nods several times, "Alright. Uh," he hesitates, glances back at his camp, at Stars, then at you, "I guess it is too late to join you now, huh?" he asks sheepishly before backing away a few steps. He stumbles over Stars who spits something at him in Quarian. He gets himself together before hurrying back to his camp to carry out your order.

"So should I just stay here or head straight to your designated Quarian torture facility?" Stars snapped.

Those four shots from the infirmary a few moments ago are suddenly followed by a lot more. The ones before were slow and paused, these sounds more like open gunfire, a shootout, too many shots to count.

Around you people are getting twitchy, not sure which way to direct their weapons.

K-9 and her gang seems to have taken it upon herself to check out what's going on in there and is heading in, weapons at the ready.

What do you do?

"Kin, Foray, go check it out with some volunteers," Ahab said over her shoulder. "Make sure everyone - especially K-9 - knows the quarian prisoner is to be kept safe."

She glanced at Stars. "My designated quarian torturer has currently occupied himself elsewhere, but no, the pleasure of dealing with you is all mine. You'll be staying close to me for now."

[Elanorin]

"The Citadel." I look distant for a moment. That was a long time ago now, Drar wasn't even old enough to be with me. I had such ideals, and such naïveté. I imagined opening a clinic for the poor and downtrodden, funded by the payments from the rich and from the gratitude of those who could afford it. Nobody would have to pay for treatment if they didn't want to, medical care was for everyone. Such naïveté. I was so sad the first time I was robbed, I couldn't understand why it would happen. The third time, I was just angry. Signing on with Ahab was giving something up, in a way. She would handle the muscle part, let me do my work and be safe, no need to get my own hands dirty beyond the basics. Felt good, got the job done. That's what's great about Ahab.

Was I spacing out there? Yeah, probably. "Yes, once, long ago" is all I say out loud. It's the long ago that's so heavy you can feel the whole room sink a foot and that brooks no questions. I pick up from it and talk about Turians instead. "Turian biology is excellent. Tough everything and a lot of physiological redundancy. Not to the same level as a Krogan, mind you, they have so many extra organs they don't know what to do with them, but Turians are pretty much capable of surviving any localized injury as long as it's treated in time. That does mean that the sorts of things that do prey on them are tough though. They still get infections, and wounds need to be disinfected carefully so that disease doesn't spread. There are also a handful of Turian parasites that can get in through their hide. You'll want something tough for those, in a pinch I suggest paint thinner, the Turian will survive it and you'll probably get the parasite. Also, Turians don't go in for painkillers, but I suggest keeping a good supply of Tumeric gel, it helps with their bones, which can get locked up if a wound penetrates deeply enough and can fuse when healing. Let me tell you, no Turian wants to have his bones rebroken by a doctor, you usually have to tie them down at that point."

"Paint thinner?" Kal'Zorah and Vectra repeated in unison. One sounded curious, the other abhorred.

"Commander, do you really trust this 'doctor'?" Vectra called across the room.

"Judging by the grief she's given me just to get to treat your sorry hides, I trust her to do her craft justice, yes. But regardless, you have your orders and I expect you to follow them," he replied as he walked out.

"I went there, on my pilgrimage," Kal'Zorah said, changing the subject back, as he tried to help you as best he could, handing you bits from your kit and lending extra hands as needed. "Amazing place. I will never forget it, even if I never see it again."

"It's just a space station. There are tonnes of space stations littered around the galaxy. The Citadel just happens to be the biggest," Vectra disagreed.

"And oldest," Kal'Zorah added. "I think it's one of those things where you have to have been there to understand."

"I doubt it. It's probably all blown up now, anyway."

"I really hope not. Hey, sit still, you're giving blood, remember."

"I'm not going to faint, I'm not a Quarian."

"Right."

The injured turian stabilises and though he's still unconscious, you feel confident his strong body will recover in time. The badly wounded quarian takes time but stabilises too. The last two are even awake as you get to them. They say little but accept your help quietly once Kal'Zorah joins in to assist you. One of them even mutters a quiet 'thank you'.


"My personal condition and state of repair is currently excellent due to aggressive salvage manoeuvres," said 239 in her reporting-tone.

"I'd say," mutters Blue.


"Timelines are difficult to establish due to the threats of violence and potential scarcity of replacement parts being areas of extreme uncertainty. In event of total supply chain breakdown I can maintain activity for two months, and then enter a state of hibernation for another four. Other than the mental effects my pilot is otherwise healthy."

Blue nods several times thoughtfully. "I guess I had you wrong." Whatever was on his mind is visibly shoved aside. "Still, she would have looted you for all your worth, so to hell with her. Nemeans stick together. Transitus linea."

"Transitus linea." The circle of Nemeans surrounding you repeats the words in perfect unison. Some are more equipped to vocalise than others, some manages little more than vaguely aligned toned feedback, but they all echo the sentiment. It is the only sound they have made since you met them.


"Kin, Foray, go check it out with some volunteers," Ahab said over her shoulder. "Make sure everyone - especially K-9 - knows the quarian prisoner is to be kept safe."

She glanced at Stars. "My designated quarian torturer has currently occupied himself elsewhere, but no, the pleasure of dealing with you is all mine. You'll be staying close to me for now."

"Okay," nods Kin and lowers down from the Shark, gingerly holding their injuries from the blast with one hand and a sack of bombs with the other.

"Will do Cap," Foray says, with a little more energy and follows after Kin. They wave over a couple of people who had been taking cover behind the trade carts and they head over towards the infirmary, getting weapons ready as they go, Foray grabbing more than anyone could ever need.

"Lucky me," Stars snarks.

Lorik disappears behind the Dextro line and after a few minutes reappears, this time he runs straight towards you, clearly a little less worried about getting shot than before.

"High Commander Prolus says he will meet with you, alone, two miles upstream. In half an hour." Lorik relays, pointing upwards along the riverbed in the direction of what seems to be just more ruined wasteland and torn structures. The things creeping towards the enemy camp has now reached their goal and disappeared among its many armoured vehicles and temporary structures.

What do you do?